


■Hi 



HI 




SONGS 



A.ND 



OTHER FANCIES 



BY 

V 
HENRY D. MUIR 



" Who doth a7nbition shun 
And loves to live V the sun . . . 
Come hither^ come hither^ come hither! " 

— Shakespeare. 



CHICAGO 

IQOI 



JCJ6I 



THF LIBRARY OF 

TWO COPIE8 HECE(VEf> 

JAN. ?5 1902 

CoPv»?|GHT ENTRy 
M&.Cf- JCf Of 

CLASS O/ XX& Mo. 



Copyright, 1901 
By Henry D, Muir 



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^4;zy -person desiring a copy of these poems can 


obtain same 


by 


mailing $1.00 


to the author. Address: 


Gross Point, 


Illinois, 


P. 


O. 


Box 8q. 













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CONTENTS 



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JO NO J 

Title. Page. 

Dying Notes 11 

Adventure 13 

An Appeal 14 

The Awakening 15 

The Morrow 16 

In Silence 17 

A Note of April 18 

The Lure 19 

Chivalry 20 

Perfumes 21 

I Dreamed 22 

In the Orchard 23 

Musicians 24 

River Songs 25 

Transformation 26 

The Dive 27 

Messages 28 

Pantheism 29 

In Arabia 30 

Our World. 31 

Durva 32 

Threads 33 

At Flight 34 

Slander 35 

The Drowsing Gods 36 

A Madrigal 37 

Joy o' the Fields , 38 

3 



CONTENTS 
Title. Page. 

Rivals 39 

The Bride 40 

Rest 41 

Bobolink 42 

A Shadow 43 

The Songs I Sang 44 

Tangles , 45 

No Anchorage 46 

Disillusion 47 

Words are as Foam 49 

Sympathy 50 

Sharing 51 

Drearily 52 

Refuge 53 

Finis 55 

L' Envoi 56 



OTHER. FANCIED 

Ballade of Unrest 59 

Drab and Gray 61 

Quest 63 

The River of Love 66 

Duality 68 

In Provence Born 69 

A Rondel 70 

You Whisper 71 

The Burly World 72 

Animalism « , 73 

A Face on the Bridge , 74 

Symphony No. 6 Tschaikowsky 75 

Ivan Turgeneff 76 

Edgar Allen Poe 77 

Reconciliation -. 78 

An Hiatus - . .. . 79 

Hesitant 80 

Death Rock 81 



CONTENTS 

Title. Page. 

The Magic Fountain 82 

Kesa, the Loyal Wife 83 

Boccaccio 84 

Chances 85 

The Life-Chain 86 

A Conspiracy 87 

The Play 88 

Ambition 89 

Cheerful Pessimism 90 

One Glow 91 

Tranquillity 92 

A Group 93 

Hercules 94 

America— A. D. 1900 95 

Charities 96 

Chicago 97 

Louisiana 98 

Fort Marion. 99 

Walden 100 

Evening in Concord 101 

The Grave of Edwin Booth 102 

'•The Mystery of Life" 103 

Amber's Island 104 

Stephen Crane 107 

Jack— A Dog 108 

Belle Isle 109 

Lake Michigan 110 

Singing Thy Hopes 112 

Ballade of the Gray Wolf 113 

Triolets 115 

A Flower 117 

Lullaby 119 

A Fairy's Song 120 

A Gift of the Sea 121 

Overwhelmed 122 

What Difference? 123 

Just a Day 124 

5 



CONTENTS 
Title. Page. 

Gulls 125 

Favors 126 

Material 127 

The Screen 128 

Deserters 129 

A Burial , 130 

Pebbles 131 

A Sketch 132 

Myself 133 

My House 134 

The Frost- World 135 

Truth 137 

No Kin 138 

Balzac 140 

Emily Dickinson 141 

The Pale Herders 142 

Capacity . 143 

Friends 144 

Romances 145 

The Veterans 147 

The Crown of Blood 149 

Hygeia 151 

"Youth" 152 

Spoilers 153 

A Minute with Shaikh Saadi 154 

The Lamp 156 

Hameh 157 

Daughter of Dives 160 

At Mizpeh 162 

Mary Magdalene 164 

CHOP iOOT 

Life's Mosaic 203 

Dread. 204 

Values 206 

Roommates 207 

6 



CONTENTS 
Title Page. 

Keeping Young 208 

A Wooden Indian 210 

Two Critics 212 

Work 213 

My Enemies 215 

Heads 217 

Professorial Brayers 219 

The Great Editor. . . .- 221 

Dr. Decetus 225 

A Popular Author 228 

An Original (?) . 231 

The Egoist 233 

Ye Curious Ones 234 

Literature 236 

An Unfortunate. 238 

'Rastus Jefferson Jones 240 

Courtesies 241 

Poets 243 

Peoples of Refinement , 245 

The Moon 246 

A Lost Bet, 247 

Mental Dyspepsia 248 

My Neighbor 250 

Double Life 252 

The Sick Lion 254 

Three Air-Ships 256 

I's . 258 

A Question 259 

Artistry 260 

The Strange Hand 261 

In the Hall of Ideals 263 



iONOi 




Dying notes, and notes half heard 

Through the forest glooms ana lights* 
Echoes of a passing bird, 

Singing as his heart invites — 
They but make a moment ring. 

Though he faint with melody; 
Love, these simple songs I sing, 

Live and die for thee. 

New songs for the newest spring 

Leap from many eager throats; 
'Mid the joyous heralding 

Steal unheard these dying notes — 
Notes that live and die for thee, 

Telling what the heart indites, 
Ebbing faint and fadingly 

Through the glooms and lights. 



11 



ADVENTURE 

Come, my soul, no farther grope 
Through this land Indifference, 
Straining thus thy fragile sense 

For the signal lights of hope. 
But come : away ! 
O, brave, my soul, and free, 

Be pinioned strong to act, to dare — 
To mount the heavens of ecstasy, 

To droop in hell-pits of despair. 
Come away! 

Here the musing Stoics sit, 
Heedful nor of sun nor rain, 
Gleaning naught of joy or pain, 

As the shadow-moments flit. 
But thou, away! 
But thou, my soul, be free ! 

O, 'scaping soon this stirless air, 
We'll sweep the heavens of ecstasy, 

Or sink to hell-pits of despair. 
Come away! 



13 



AN APPEAL 

Now ice doth break on stream and lake, 
And Spring's but gently sleeping, 

'Neath snows so light and thin and white 
That half her charms are peeping. 

Why then so still, O heart, and chill, 
When joy shouldst fill thee, heaping? 

The sun's great love doth melt and move : 

See ! at his nod approving, 
Ev'n ice and snow do leap and glow 

And o'er the earth go roving. 
My sun art thou ; but shine, and, lo ! 

I, too, will glow with loving. 



14 



THE AWAKENING 

Now, while Winter wanes away, 

Comes a day, 
Sweet and glorious and free, — 

Comes to me! — 
And around my soul I fold it; 
Close unto my breast I hold it, 
Till my singing heart hath told it 

Dreams of melody. 

For to-day my heart can sing 

Songs that ring 
Musically light, and warm 

With the charm 
Of loosed river freely streaming, 
Of green meadows newly teeming, 
Of a forest palely dreaming 

Of some spent alarm. 

Joy of many, many things 

Leaps and sings 
In the heart's sweet wakening ; 

But must sing 
As the singing thrushes — higher 
Than may thought or word aspire; 
Free, with that unlessoned choir, 

At the feet of Spring. 

*5 



THE MORROW 

Because rough winds had bitten 

The trees with teeth of hail; 
Because Winter had smitten 

Drear field and forest pale ; 
Because the sun had shrouded 
His face, and skies were clouded/ 

I falsely said, — "Lo, Spring is dead; 
Spring is dead." 

Because my heart was seared 

By fires and frosts of years; 
Because my soul had wearied 

Of fruitless hopes and fears; 
Because no dreams came nightly, 
On light wings flying lightly, 

I falsely said, — "Lo, Love is dead; 
Love is dead." 

For on the very morrow 

Came Spring through field and grove, 
And, through the mist of sorrow, 

Gleamed the near eyes of Love; 
And voices fell, reproving, 
But tender still with loving, — 

" 'Twas falsely said ; we are not dead : 
No ; not dead." 

16 



IN SILENCE 

Not by smile or glance or gesture 

Was love's blessed presence shown, 
Not by sweep of curl or vesture, 

Not by voice of melting tone : 
By a light more swift than glances, 

By a sign more chaste and lone 
Than in dream of purest fancies 

Was that blessed presence known. 

Silence held and gyved and bound us, 

Gyved and bound us all around, 
Vainly seeking to confound us 

In a maze of gloom profound. 
But that very silence brought us 

To the fane where love is crowned; 
And Love's self, in silence, taught us 

Without glance or touch or sound. 



17 



A NOTE OF APRIL 

Love, the birds are singing low, 

On brown-budded branches swinging; 

And my heart, my heart, also, 
Is a note of April, winging 
With the notes of their sweet singing, 

All aglow 
For the life and joy of spring. 

And no surer do I know, — 

Love, thou dearest in Love's keeping! — 
That the velvet buds will show 

Their green hearts than thy heart, leaping 

From its cave for winter sleeping, 
Soon will flow 

With mine in this gleam of spring. 



18 



THE LURE 

Thoughts that would be spoken, 
Thoughts that should be broken 
For some fantastic token 

Of melody and song, — 
How they leap and tremble, 
Fade and reassemble, 
Writhe in and out and whirl about — 

A most unruly throng! 

Quick they are and clever, 
Baffling each endeavor; 
No strategy can sever 

Fair number from their files : 
Lures that should allure them, 
Chains that should secure them, 
All, all are vain; from lure and chain 

They glide with taunting smiles. 

Only when I whisper 
Name than cresses crisper 
Comes every tiny lisper 

Of light melodic sound: 
Threats cannot compel them, 
And charms will not spell them; 
But at thy name, subdued and tame, 

They cluster thick around. 

19 



CHIVALRY 

Sweetly, sweetly, birds awoke me 

From the blank of night; 
And I let the music stroke me 

As it might, 
Till my thoughts were silken light. 

Then I sent one thought a-flying 

Over wood and moor, 
Where a prisoned heart was lying, 

Most secure, 
In a prison marble-pure. 

It should sing: "One cometh hither, 

To thy rescuing; 
And these bars, as rush, shall wither 

And the swing 
Of his sword tame everything." 

Softly, softly, birds around me 

Hush their song a space, 
And I know my squire hath found thee, 

Face to face. 
Courage ! I must ride apace. 



20 



. PERFUMES 

These perfumes of night, 

Dear, that fill us and thrill us 
With aerial might, 

They would slay, they would kill us ; 
Ay, kill us ; and fill us, 

Till, vase-like, we hold 
Soft spices of night — 

White, silent and cold. 

Love's breath, it alone, 

Dear, shall still us or thrill us; 
Love's perfumes or none, 

Dear, revive us or kill us; 
But night that would still us, 

O, night need not guess 
'Tis Love's breath alone, 

Dear, his, that we bless ! 



21 



I DREAMED 

I dreamed, and thine eyes were clearer 
Than aught on earth that's clear; 

I dreamed, and thy voice was dearer 
Than music, — music dear! 

And thy face knew a light sincerer 

Than light of thy days, and nearer 
Thy soul than thought seemed near. 

So now, as in truth I hold thee, 

O life that is, not seems ! 
Now, while these arms enfold thee; 

Now, let shadows and gleams 
Dark thee with sin-clouds or gold thee 
With glow of heaven, — I'll behold thee 

Still through the eyes of dreams. 



22 



IN THE ORCHARD 

For these curling flakes, down shaken, 

O, so gently, o'er thy hair, 
Could love's sweetest blooms be taken, 

And my heart the boughs repair, — 
Then the blossoms of this playtime 

Of the clean and budding year 
Would not perish with the Maytime, 

But forever shower thee, dear! 

Shower thee ever, ay, forever, 

With exhaustless pink and white; 
And the boughs be barren never 

Of some new and rare delight. 
Love enchanting, frosts that harden 

Fail, nor any sun doth sear : 
In the soul's immortal garden 

Burst the buds forever, dear! 



23 



MUSICIANS 

Beethoven's divinity, 
Mozart's free serenity, 
And, for happy trinity, 

Schubert's lyric song: 
These I deemed enough for me, 
These musicians three, 

For life long. 

Fool ! I knew no rune of love, 
Nor the jealous croon of love: 
Standing in the June of love, 

Now you sing and play. 
Heedless I of minstrel three; 
But one song for me, 

All the day. 



24 



RIVER-SONGS 

From my dripping oars 
Music pours — 
Each light-splashing drop's a note divine : 
Tis the sweet prelude, 
Yet how seeming rude, 
'Gainst this sweeter swelling strain of thine. 

For you sing, you sing — 
You that bring 
All life's gladness, all life's madness, to my heart. 
Ah, no lulled king 
Hath such soul-soothing, 
For all the soother's skill and minstrel art! 

The flushed Evening 

Hears thee sing, 
And folds back the shadows that would fall : 
Now she leans so low 
That the waters glow 
And the gold blush of heaven suffuses all. 

Thus, my dear, my dear, 
Singing clear, 
We shall drift through half the dreamy night. 
To our souls belongs 
Song, and only songs 
Shall guide, shall steer, shall lull us with delight. 

25 



TRANSFORMATION 

The rodded gold you trailed astern, 
While singing soft your song of love, 
O, 'twas as coarse as random weed; 
But lifted, — how the diamonds burn 
Down avenues of flame, and prove 
That 'tis a flower of fairy breed ! 

My flower of days as coarse did seem 
As rugged weed, ill-sown and wild, 
Abandoned in the thistled way; 
But it was splashed beneath a stream 
Of Love's sweet water undefiled; 
It gleams divine with pendant spray. 



26 



THE DIVE 

My course is as silent and green 

As hermit could wish ; 
And here is a palace serene, — 

The servitors; fish; 
And here, the bright nymph of the stream, 

And maids, in a ring: 
O, here, I will linger, and dream, 

And sway as a king! 

My heart that is heavy with love, 

And sick with love's care, 
Will shake from the fetters thereof, 

Be free of the snare; 
Will drowse as the heart of a child 

That knoweth but sleep : 
My life, be it bitter or mild, 

Shall over me sweep. 

But, love, the far light of thine eye 

Doth follow me here. 
What! am I a serf that must fly, 

And kneel, and revere? 
For my heart doth mount on the gleam; 

'Tis fettered anew; 
'Tis borne to the crest of the stream, 

To life, and to you. 

27 



MESSAGES 

Messages the winds are writing 

On the surface of the bay ; 
Messages in white, delighting 
With fair lines of foam and spray, 
Which are blotted quick away, 

Or transposed — 
Subtle messages are they, 
Half-disclosed. 

Only lovers' eyes can read them; 

Only your dear eyes and mine, 
From the tossing* skiff, do heed them 
And the liquid words define, 
Reading clear their every line; 

For our hearts 
Bear the indelible divine 
Counterparts. 



28 



PANTHEISM 

Tell my heart and creed, love? 
Nay, ask the birds that sing; 
Ask the bees that wing 

Among sweet flowers ; 
Ask the leaf that shakes ; 
Ask the gleaming lakes ; 
Ask the air that makes 

This happy clime of ours. 

For their creed is mine, love — 
The creed of light and joy, 
For hours that not destroy 

Themselves in gloom; 
The creed of sun and air, 
And all that showeth fair; 
A creed of joy, to share, 

To share, dear heart, with — whom? 



29 



IN ARABIA 

Strode a genie through the palace 

That fair dream had wrought, 
And his eyes were hot with malice; 

But I thought 
Of a worded talisman 
In my garb Arabian. 

Then his look was cooled to pleasure, 

And he knelt, my slave: 
"Ask and take of me that treasure 

Thou dost crave." 
But I hid my talisman, 
And dissolved the charm began. 

For I saw a light more splendid 

Than from magics wove — 
Love, thine eyes were on me bended, 

And their love 
Through my soul so richly ran, 
Shamed, I hid the talisman. 



30 



OUR WORLD 

What doth the cankerous world to-day? 

O, love, what doth it say? 
Are mad hearts striving still and sad hearts sighing? 

Nay, love, thou dost not care; 

So this our world be fair, 
These sweetly-crested hours before us flying. 

For this our golden world we'll plan 

On plan Sicilian; 
Ay, Theocritus, he, shall lute us numbers; 

And gentle Bion, too, 

And Moschus, friend, and true, 
And many a singer new that mutely slumbers. 

Wax-girted pipes, perchance, they'll play 

For us, and w T e will pay 
With wines Petelean the high endeavor ; 

And these our crested hours, 

With anise crowned and flowers, 
Will break the wreaths for showers and chaplets sever. 

So, love, what cares our world to-day 

What the mad world doth say; 
So that its hearts be light for kindly swaying; 

So that the ways be sweet 

And soft unto its feet, 
The winging pleasures fleet and not delaying. 

3i 



DURVA 

Oft the holy Hindoo prayed : 
"Durva, Durva, sacred grass ! 
Into my existence pass 

All thy hundred roots, and braid 
All thy hundred stems divine 
With this life of mine. 

'Then/' — the holy Hindoo said, — 
"Durva, Durva, green and fresh ! 
Will a hundred sins of flesh 

From my soul be sundered. 
And a hundred years prolong 

Life, and virtues throng/' 

Love, no holy Hindoo craves, 
Now, a hundred years of bliss; 
But two lips profane would kiss 

Thine, and be your rubied slaves. 
What's a hundred years to this — 
Love's immortal kiss ! 



32 



THREADS 

Love no idle shadow is, 

Shifting with the sun; 
But of surest substances 

Love is wove and spun. 
Where life's tapestries outspread 

Endless threads are wove — 
Strongest, brightest, is the thread 
Love. 

Let the grim Eumenides 
Shear and cut and maim, 

Tearing from the tapestries 
Health, or wealth, or fame : 

They can shear, unhindered, 
Every thread thereof, 

Save that brightest golden thread — 
Love. 

All the rest as shadows are, 
Love's the substance true; 

Gleaming hope, though every star 
Fail of hope and hue. 

Truth, at crystal fountain-head, 
Beauty, in her grove, 

Ever spin the golden thread — 
Love. 

33 



AT FLIGHT 

How can my heart be heedful, 

Loving thee so ! 
How can my heart be greedful 

Of what on earth may show; 
Having such heaven above me, 
Having scope to love thee! 
Ah, can my heart be heedful, — 

Loving thee so ! 

But what man deemeth needful 

'Neath foot I throw, 
And with wide wings and speedful 

I move from high to low ; 
And from that low to highest, 
Even as thou fliest: 
How can my heart be heedful, — 

Loving thee so ! 



34 



SLANDER 

Eros, our god, is spiteful ; 

Eros hath jealous grown 
Of these our days delightful: 

He'd change our hearts to stone. 
For last night through my dreaming 

He glanced on wings of joy, 
And his arch face was beaming — 

So I addressed the boy : 

"To gentlest knight Tibullus 

Was Delia untrue, 
Xor found the sweet Catullus 

A love of constant hue ; 
But, Love, my love is truthful, 

And, Love, her heart is strong ; 
For see ! our days are soothful 

With balm and sun and song. 

"And, Love, with thee Fd wager 

My wealth, my life, my soul, 
That truer heart nor sager 

Doth beat 'twixt pole and pole." 
Showed he no face of mercy, 

But, with bored gesture, fled. 
"A woman false as Circe — 

Poor, doting fool !" he said. 

35 



THE DROWSING GODS 

Let the mild Apsarasas, 
Heavenly nymphs, refrain to pass 
Through these common fields of grass, 
And the gods of light that are — 
Indra, rest in glowing star; 
Mithra, Surya, Savitar, 

Drowse within the sun, — 
Dearest one! 

Find we not divinities 
Of a stronger grace than these 
Where our own and native trees 
Spread, and where the homely breeds 
Of flowers startle not the meads ? 
Pity we their languid needs, 
Love, and sing for them 
Requiem ! 



36 



A MADRIGAL 

O the sky, how blue it is ! 
O thy love, how true it is ! 
O the earth, how fair it is ! 
O our life, how rare it is ! 

And though Time reaps all of them, 
Now we'll heed the call of them, 
Mid the heart's delicious strife — 
Nature, Love, and Life. 



37 



JOY O' THE FIELDS 

O, and what were the joy o' the fields — 

The bird-notes loose and free, 
The perfumes light and the flowers bright, 

To hear, and to breathe, and to see, — 
If thou shared not with me, my love, 

If thou shared not with me ! 

But thou stand'st clear i ? the golden warmth, 

And hear, and breathe, and see ; 
And the world's complete, and life's as sweet 

As the life of the roving bee : 
For thou shar'st all with me, my love, 

O, thou shar'st all with me! 



38 



RIVALS 

Td sing thee a song, but alas ! 
The trees and the flowers and the grass 
Sing, and the echoless stream 
Sings, and the blue skies, in dream, 
Sing, — ay, and all that is silent doth teem 
With song, when I'd sing. 

So that, when I open my lips, 
Their songs, love, my pale songs eclipse 
And all my heart-flow make dumb 
To thee ; no melodies come 
To thee — the hive of their birth is their tomb 
Ere spread they a wing. 



39 



THE BRIDE 

To Titania, queen, 

I will send for a veil 
Of rich bridal sheen, 
And to Oberon, king, 
I will kneel for a ring, 
And the elvish Puck hail 

For minstrels, to sing 

And soothly to play, 
And for dancers to dance 
On our fair wedding day. 

For my bride must be seen 

In no filmier veil 
Than true fairy sheen, 
And no shaped metal cling 
To her hand, but a ring 
Forged 'neath the moon and pale; 

And heart it must spring 

To song with the fay, 
Nor a grosser wing glance 
Through the glad wedding day. 



40 



REST 

Sweet, the drowsy-natured June 
O'er and o'er one word doth croon 
Through the noon, and after noon,- 
"Rest." 

And it fills the daisy's ear, 
And the gentle grasses hear — 
Petal, leaf, and fairy spear 
Rest. 

We have felt the cold and heat, 
We have moved to restless beat ; 
Now we too, we too, my sweet, 
Rest. 



4i 



BOBOLINK 

Not thy song's sweet clarity, 
Though as light and clear, 

Bobolink, 
O'er the earth it flows 
As freshet from pure snows — 
No ; 'tis thy sincerity 
Makes thee dear to heart and ear, 
Bobolink. 

For through pale humanity 

Runs swart threads of gloom, 

Bobolink, 
And our freest songs 
Still are bound in thongs 
Of thick-woven vanity — 
Woven doom of fateful loom, 
Bobolink ! 

But the notes you sing to us, 
So jocund and free, 

Bobolink, 
Lacking vanities, 
Bring us sweet heartsease, 
And stray hopes that cling to us, — 
Ay, till we could sing with thee, 
Bobolink ! 

42 



A SHADOW 

In this grove of many fountains 
May that faith that moveth mountains 
Move a shadow, fleecy-light, 
Yet of power to chill and blight. 

For but late, alone and dreaming, 
By these waters, splashing, gleaming, 
Love, I saw, too true, thy face 
Gleam from veil of foamy lace. 

And the eyes that now do glitter 
With warm light, — O, they were bitter 
As sad eyes that ne'er had told 
Love's held rosary of gold. 

Ah ! is love but as a curtain, 
Hiding depths unknown, uncertain, 
To the very heart? a gleam 
Of bright foam above the stream ? 

In this grove of leaping fountains 
May that faith that moveth mountains 
Lift a shadow, fleecy-light, 
That would chill and dark and blight ! 



43 



THE SONGS I SANG 

The songs I sang for you, love, 
Were warm and bright and free ; 

And wings they had, and, swift and glad, 
They flew 'twixt you and me. 

Through glad, swift days of pleasure, 
Through nights that knew no pang, 

So lightly flew, from me to you, 
The songs I sang. 

The songs I sing to-day, love, 

Are poor and sad, I know ; 
Bearing the weight of time and fate, 

How pale they are and slow ! 
From proud red gates of passion, 

No more like birds they wing ; 
Yet creep as true, from me to you, 
The songs I sing. 



44 



TANGLES 

Blows this scented breeze as free 
As the breezes of the sea, 
But it cannot blow away 
Circling thought as down or spray. 

Flowers and grasses are caressed 
Into soft and careless rest : 
O, that 'twere thy charge, good wind, 
So to cradle heart and mind ! 

But no touch or twirl of thine 
Can unknot the fated twine — 
Ah, these tangles must remain 
Long in soul and heart and brain ! 



45 



NO ANCHORAGE 

So long my mind had been at sea, 

That, when a port was neared, 
I saw no harborage for me, 

And to the main I veered; 
And scudded fast through froth of crest, 

And o'er wide trough of seas, 
And found more rest in stormy test 

Than in snug shelteries. 

The light flares redly from the mole, 

But 'neath its gleaming line, 
I know the bay too bound and shoal 

For such a ship as mine. 
But I will breast the iampless main 

And sweep what wave I please; 
Ere whelmed or slain, more calm I'll gain 

Than in the sheltered seas. 



46 



DISILLUSION 

Water of the spring I take, 

Water cool, 
And my burning thirst I slake 

At the pool ; 
And the fever in my blood 

Sinks and dies, 
As I quaff the magic flood. 

Now mine eyes are staring wide, 

And I see 
The dim paths on every side : 

Drearily 
Lead the paths o'er desert bare 

Of delights- 
Sterile gloom is everywhere. 

Yet one path but late I trod, 

And it seemed 
All the glories of a god 

Round me gleamed ; 
In the opulence of joy 

I was clad 
And the earth was but a toy. 

Now that path is like the rest, 
Stretching faint 

47 



O'er the desert's aching breast, 

And the taint 
Of despair and barren death 

Blights the air 
With most pestilential breath. 

May these waters cool and clear 

Be accurst, 
And the hour that brought me here, 

And the thirst. 
I, that like a prince had died 

At fierce noon, 
Muse in this pale eventide. 



48 



WORDS ARE AS FOAM 

Words are as foam that lightly breaks 

In long white lines of frothing bubble ; 
And thought's the wave that swells and makes 

That foam-life, — brief for joy or trouble : 
But, O, how ocean-deep and vast 

The flood-tide of the heart's emotion! 
Words are as foam, lightly upcast, 

Thoughts are but waves to crest that ocean. 

For silent, 'neath the seething tide, 

By darkness whelmed and all forsaken, 
Lie shattered wrecks of youth and pride, 

And stancher ships — yet, too, o'ershaken. 
There slow decays brave hulk and mast, 

And Love's swift galleys of devotion : 
Words are as foam, lightly upcast, 

Thoughts are but waves to crest that ocean. 



49 



SYMPATHY 

In hosts the blue flag lilies rise 

Above the stream; 
The flowers here have brilliant eyes ; 

They muse and dream. 
What care the little denizens 
Of these grassy meads and fens 

If a soul be aching, 

Or a heart is breaking — 
What care they? 

Have they not all song and hum 

The rich day yields ? 
When such laden breezes come 

Across the fields, 
Giving more than they do take 
Of sweet perfumes, how can ache 

Of a soul that's aching, 

Of a heart, slow breaking, 
Claim their care? 

Yet doth flow a sympathy, 

Silent, divine, 
Thrilling soft and warm and free, 

Through air and shine, 
Sent from dreamy bloom and leaf ; 
And I feel they share in grief 

With a soul that's aching, 

With a lone heart, breaking ; 
And they care. 

50 



SHARING 

Pollen grain to hungry leaves 

Now the worker bees are bearing; 
Now the smallest flower is sharing 
Some delight that it receives 
From the rain or sun or air ; 

Now, now, now, 
Pulsing from the twittering bough, 

Clear is heard 
One reiterated word, — 

"Share, share, share." 

Smallest flower of the mead, 

And ye birds and bees wayfaring, 
That such humble joys are sharing, 
Shall not I be wise and heed? 
Why should any soul thus fare, 

Cold, cold, cold, 
In the cloak of self enrolled? 

From the heart 
Tear the veiling garb apart — 

Share, share, share! 



5i 



DREARILY 

Drearily, O, eerily, 
Sigh the winds o'er land and sea! 
Every wave and every tree 
Shudders at the mystery 

Buried those sighs within; 
And the sun forgotten is, 
And the summer's golden kiss, 
And dream-days of light and bliss, 

As no such hours had been. 

Drearily, so wearily, 

Have the pale years taunted me ; 

Gibing their malicious glee, 

As the hopes and pleasures flee— 

Shadows of truth and sin. 
Yet, though Love with Joy be flown, 
Yet the heart is not alone : 
Memories sing, and long 'tis known 

Where such sweet guests have been. 



52 



REFUGE 

Twas when the glade was brightest 

With flower and song and shine ; 
When Summer's sleep was lightest, 

And all her dreams divine; 
When gorgeous hue was fashion 

In plant, in transient wing, — 
Then, through my noon of passion, 

Came Love, hovering, 

And said : "Lo, all this splendor 

Of blossom, fern, and vine, 
And all these mosses tender, 

And all these grasses fine, 
Shall pass ; and their deflowering 

Will leave thy hopes as sere — 
Only this pine, o'ertowering, 

Can outlast the year." 

For in that fair glade-center . 

There reigned a monarch pine ; 
A gaunt and somber mentor, 

Far-shadowing many a line : 
So ev'n the stariest flowers 

Were darkened in some wise, 
Nor, save in droning hours, 

Gleamed free to the skies. 

53 



And O, with heart of loathing, 

Loathed I that gloomy pine ; 
That veiled in shadow-clothing 

Those forms of frail design ; 
That touched with melancholy 

Each slightest, lightest star, 
And all the glowing valley 

Subdued from afar. 

But now no birds are calling, 

But now bleak winds that whine, 
But now the snows are falling, 

But now no tendrils twine; 
And now no hope of meadow 

Can lie more sere than mine, — 
Yet now, in balming shadow, 

Now, bless I the pine. 



54 



FINIS 

Love that had such wings to fly, 

And such might 
That the world was all too small 

For his flight, 
And he needs must dart the sky, 
Through star regions heavenly, — 

Is this he? 
Here, on black pall ! 

Love that sang for day and night, 

Dreamingly, 
Songs that rang like fairy gold, — 

Is this he? 
And these lips of silent white, 
Are- they silent of delight — 

Silent quite; 
And pale, and cold? 

Yes, Love's light afar is blown — 

Far, indeed, 
The fair light is borne through haze. 

Now, with speed, 
Cover close the face of stone : 
But one tear ; then we'll be gone, 

Each alone, 
Down lonely ways. 

55 



L'ENVOI 

Cruised we the light seas and rough stresses; 

Pine islands and palm 
We saw, and the gold of Love's tresses 

Through moonglades of calm. 
And still swells the sea; every islet 

Waves palm or proud pine — 
But one ship, abandoned of pilot, 

Is salt as deep brine. 

And the shells of o { ur joys and our sorrows, 

On silence of sands, 
Lie chill: but the thronging to-morrows 

May lift in warm hands, 
And glance o'er the pinks and the azures; 

Ev'n hold to the ear 3 
Till voice of far dolors and pleasures 

They faintly can hear. 



56 



OTHER. FANCIED 




.. 



BALLADE OF UNREST 

Well do we know on the world's gray pages, — 
Thumbed and ruffled and creased and frayed, 

Scrawled by" poets and fools and sages, — 
Light of wisdom and folly's shade : 
Well do we know ; yet, undismayed, 

We plunge through dark and mist and fire ; 
Paying life's debt, till all is paid ; 

Driven by the goad of the soul's desire. 

Thus did the heroes of outw r orn ages ; 

Thus did vassals, by sin betrayed ; 
Thus, when our ecstasies, sorrows, rages, 

Pains, and pleasures, suffered or played, 

Low in the tomb of time are laid — 
Pale as ashes of desert pyre — 

Onward the sensate calvalcade, 
Driven by the goad of the soul's desire. 

Truth or folly by turn engages : 

Motley and velvet, in close parade, 
Laugh or sigh, as the dreary stages 

Pass, and memories wax or fade. 

Hearts courageous and hearts afraid 
Spur through the snow, the dust, the mire, 

Shining courser and stumbling jade ; 
Driven by the goad of the soul's desire. 

59 



L'Envoi 

Princes who reap the uplands of trade ! 

Slaves who sweat for contemptible hire ! 
Ye, having life, have life's laws obeyed ; 

Driven by the goad of the soul's desire. 



60 



DRAB AND GRAY 

O, the drab and gray of life ! 
How it stifles, how it kills ! 
All the streams of hope it chills, 
Silently, and love's warm rills. 

O, this drab and gray of life ! 

Xot a phantom voice of night, 

Heard through mist of dream and sleep, 
Ebbing faint o'er Lethean deep, 
Dying echoless, did weep 

These frail words: "O, death, or light!" 

But a spirit, grossly held 

In the husk of life and sense, 

Feeling all the waves intense 

Of passion, and in the dense 
Of doubt and darkness, truth-impelled, 

Breathed the words : "O, light, or death !" 
And its sky, gray-hung and cold, 
Flashed no beacon streak of gold, 
Did no rifted hope unfold 

For the anguished eyes beneath. 

61 



Is it strange, since angels fell 
Having light in fadeless streams, 
That an earthly child of dreams, 
Finding only false-fire gleams, 

Burned in self-created hell? 

O, this drab and gray of life ! 
Ere the sullen hues unroll, 
Welcome to how many a soul, 
Falls the death-bells' gentle toll 

Through the drab and gray of life ! 



62 



QUEST 

With violent hands a path I tore 

Deep through the forest of the world, 

And, in the very heart and core, 

A space I freed of briars, and hurled 
Myself on mossy floor. 

Behind me lay the sanguine seas 
Of birth, soft-lapping, tremulous; 

Before me played Death's monodies : 
Ev'n from the portals of his house 

They crept on languid breeze. 

And long I watched, — a straining eye 
My soul, — the pallid, sentient files 

That swept in eager madness by — 

Mad host of life ! — and tears and smiles, 
Writhing so restlessly 

O'er faces, paled by pain or thought, 
Or moved by mirth's delusive sound, 

I saw ; and all their essence caught 

In one clear glance : all faces found, — 
All but one face I sought. 

Dim faces, worn by hunger's tooth — 
Heart-hungry ; faces blown with lust ; 

63 



Sweet faces, lovely with love's truth ; 
Dark faces, where the clouds and dust 
O'ershadowed gold of youth; 

Keen faces, flashing all the fires 

That life hath lit or heart may bear : 

All hopes, all joys, and all desires, 
All love's delight, all love's despair, 
Lit new on various pyres, — 

Showed now, as waving dream inwrought 
On vestments of the sandaled night, 

Pale seen of eyes but newly taught 
Sleep's mysteries : so swept this flight ; 
And yet one face I sought. 

Till waves of baffling weariness 

And outraged longing surged my heart, 

Like waters bitter of caress, 
I watched in silence and apart 

The onward-sweeping press : 

Yea, till lithe tongues of liquid gloom 
Moved stealthily upon my soul, 

To blast its inmost health and bloom, 

I watched ; then through the thicket stole 
To freer air and room. 

Ev'n w r here cool silences caressed 
The summer's fevered brow and hair, 

And shadows bathed her eyes with rest 
Divine, I came — yes; even there, 
On lone, intruding quest. 

64 



But saw not in those eyes of light 
The light I sought, nor in her face — 

Flowerlike and warm and radiant-bright — 
The gleams that wear through time and space, 
Through the world's day and night. 

• •••••••• 

Behind me roll the distant seas 

Of birth, soft-lapping, tremulous; 
Before me sigh Death's monodies : 

Ev'n from the portals of his house 
They steal on nearing breeze. 



65 



THE RIVER OF LOVE 

Out of the swirling river I leapt, 
The moss-green bank attaining; 

Out of the swirling River of Love, — 
Eddies encircling, enchaining, — 

Even in the heat of the fiery noon 
I sprang, with a heart disdaining. 

And I said : "Here the shadows lie cool, 

And here the acacia flowers ; 
And truly that man is a fool 

Who drifts through heat-harrowed hours- 
Drifts down the turbulent River of Love 

To the pool that gulfs and devours. 

"Buried in moss shall my coracle lie, 

Graved, and at rest forever; 
Buried, I, too, shall wear the day through ; 

Here, on the bank of the river; 
Here, where the gurgling waters of love 

Writhe in a serpentine quiver. 

"And shadows heralding queenly Night, 
And Night, and her stars attending, 

Shall deem me a part, in faint half-light, 
Of the shore, serenely blending; 

A sentinel guard of the River of Love, — 
A reft gnarled branch, o'erbending. 

66 



"The day may bind me with thin-spun dreams, 
But the night's swift language of fire 

Shall teach me, by sign of light divine, 
Hopes that will free and inspire, 

And lift me above this mad river Love — 
Insatiate stream of desire/' 

So musing, I drowsed in flowers and moss, 

Or watched the silvery gliding, 
And boats of voyagers swerve and toss, 

And voyagers, pale with riding — 
Riding 'mong rocks of the River of Love, 

And dangers, — lurking and hiding. 

When lo ! my woof of peace and of calm 

Fell, irrevocably riven ; 
Lo, through the gleam of sun and of stream, 

A face in the swirl down driven, — 
A face o'ersplashed by the current of love ; 

A spirit of hell — or of heaven ! 

And now with the coursing torrent I drift — 

Drift this heat-harrowed hour ; 
Mocked by the mocking waters of love, 

Bound in the chains of their power ; 
Drift down the turbulent River of Love 

To pools that gulf and devour ! 



6 7 



DUALITY 

She is a queenly flower, she is a weed ; 
She is true gold of stamped imperial breed, 
She is the basest metal for man's greed ; 

She is clear brook, she is the torrent dense ; 
She is the unshorn lamb of innocence, 
She is the serpent-coil of Sin's defence ; 

And snowy dove she is, and ebon crow ; 
The white of love she is, hate's murk of woe ; 
Firm star above she is, yet — phosphor glow ! 



68 



IN PROVENCE BORN 

''In Provence born, why rov'st thou here, 

O singer of endearing strains — 
Thou minstrel heart of light and cheer, 
In Provence born ! 

This land, thou seest, with hails and rains 

Is drenched and pelted all the year ; 
No flower blooms, no bird remains." 

'Yet, lady, is this land most dear; 

And sweet its life and chastening pains : 
Nor loves more warm, nor eyes more clear 
In Provence born !" 



6 9 



RONDEL 

Speak from thy heart but a word reassuring, 

Speak a true word, be it never so weak ; 
Dear, are the skies of our fair love obscuring? 
Speak ! 

O, better black darkness than sparkle and streak 

Golden as sunfire, but falsely alluring; 
Better the black night than love's day grown bleak. 

No word? and lips are as stone gates immuring 

Captives of death; but thine eye and thy cheek, 
And the heave of thy breast, in language enduring, 
Speak. 



70 



YOU WHISPER 

You whisper: "Dear, our skies will clear 
Of darkness, and the languid year, 
So sullen-sad, so numb, so dead, 
Will blossom yet with hopes of red 
And promises of golden cheer/' 

Your words beat idly on my ear — 
But one I hear, but one I hear : 

And still, when all the rest are fled, 
You whisper, — "Dear." 

O, how can sere and pallid Fear 
Wrench from my hours a sigh, a tear, 
When so you lean with tressed head 
Against my cheek : all heaven is spread 
Around us ; so, thus nestling near, 
You whisper, dear! 



7i 



THE BURLY WORLD 

The burly world will not be held 
To rule and law, will not be quelled 
With paper bullets, — deftly creased 
By poet, prophet, scholar, priest, — 
Will not be cribbed, nor bound, nor celled. 

But moves, as in the days of eld 
It moved, primarily impelled, 

That stubborn, coarse, licentious beast- 
The burly world. 

And would we have it tamed and spelled 
With visionary's charm? or felled 

By every wind from west and east ? 

The ages say not so, at least ; 
Sparing, whatever else be knelled, 
The burly world. 



72 



ANIMALISM 

To be a dog, a free, a careless rover, 

Low-crouching in the daisy-dotted field ; 
Down grasses lush to roll over and over, 

Catching a thousand odors — late unsealed 
By Nature, in her boundless prodigence ; 

To leave the trim and measured paths of habit 
For one wild hour-long revelry of sense ; 

To splash in stream; through brush, to course the 
rabbit ; 
To take with bounteous chest the sun-cleansed air ! 

For is this life I live ? these pulseless years ! 
These starveling hours that pine for kindlier fare ! 

These bounded days of narrow hopes and fears ! 
A baser, grosser life than my poor dog 
E'en dreams of, — at my feet stretched like a log. 



n 



A FACE ON THE BRIDGE 

Toil-pale the face, but young and healthful yet, 
And all sanguine of life, though life harass 
With cares to bend a helmed head of brass ; 

Sweeping with morning where, tumultuous, set 

The tides of travel in keen, nervous fret, — 
This face I view, soft-peering from the mass : 
So, penned and latticed by the burdening grass, 

Shows through coarse meadow-growths some violet. 

Out of each morning gleams a treasured space 
Of time, wherein I read that patient face ; 

Crossing on bridge — how like the bridge of life ! 
And all the passionate sharp thoughts that burn 
Pass from me as brief flame : daily I learn 

To walk unmoved through the day's hate and strife. 



74 



SYMPHONY NO. 6, "PATHETIC"— Tschaikowsky 

Calm lakes, smooth rivers, undulating seas, 

Voicing light foam-songs for the amorous shore, 
Are left, — O, far behind ! This is the roar 

Of ocean's voice tempestuous : here each breeze 

Is sharp with bared life's quivering agonies ; 

And yearnings for strayed Peace, who turns no more, 
Float through the lulls of storm : now sylphids pour 

Love's requiem, in loveliest melodies. 

And on this sea of passion and despair, 
Through stress of sleet and wave and vibrant air, 
A boat drives roughly ; and a soul doth wait 
The last downsweep and final gulfing gate : 
Bravely it waits, nor questions when or where 
Of the stern helmswraith, — iron-fingered Fate. 



75 



IVAN TURGENEFF 

No surer hand, O Turgeneff, than thine 

E'er shaped, with coloring of earth and sky, 
Against the white of language, tracery 

Most delicate ; nor ear attuned more fine 

E'er caught the sob in Nature's voice divine, 

Thrilling through wakened hearts, — how silently ! 
Nor soul more zealous-proud for Liberty 

E'er bore her armor or obeyed her sign. 

Great Russian ! In the fragrance that doth breathe 
Thy pages through ; in hopes and fears that wreathe 

Themselves o'er sorrows vast — vast, as the drear 
Interminable steppes and marshes lone — 
In serfdom's faded scenes; in all, the tone 

Of truth and passion lives, — earnest, sincere. 



7 6 



EDGAR ALLEN POE 

(On October 7, the fiftieth anniversary of Poe's untimely 
death, the University of Virginia unveiled, with fitting cere- 
monies, a finely-executed bust of the poet. — News Item, i8gg. 

Time, sifting negligent these puny days 

With careless hand and eyes of languid droop, — 
Dull weariness outlined in every stoop 

Of his frail form, — now suddenly doth raise 

His head : 'tis for thee, Poe, his roused gaze 
Is bent — for lo ! glooms cavernous do loop 
Themselves and forth thy shadowy fancies troop 

Before him, sighing sadly down sad ways. 

Poe ! truly thou art crowned this day with fame. 

Ah, truly this thy country, rude and slow 
To welcome thee in hour of light or shame, 

To-day doth herald thee with prideful glow; 
To-day doth crown all graciously thy name, — 

Yea, like Time, rouses at the name of Poe. 



77 



RECONCILIATION 

Three messages, from forth the flare and blare 
Of war were borne three mothers; and the same 
Dark word fell, — "dead." And one upon God's name 

Called loud and raised her pallid face in prayer; 

And one, made fierce by overplus of care, 

Cursed God and man with tongue for fiery blame ; 
And one, nor pliable, nor wild as flame, 

Moved silent through the day with beamless stare. 

Yet, in fair sequence, were these moods distraught D 
Blended and moulded by one kindred thought 

And led in gentle chains of melancholy: 
So when three women, meeting through the years, 
Viewed with like eyes the backward path of tears, 

They twined a wreath for Time of rue and holly. 



78 



AN HIATUS 

What man may know the true face of his mind ! 
Atzal, our singer-priest, our comrade, strong 
Above our strongest to weave festal song, — 

Atzal from his rush-mat arose, and, blind 

Of sense, his way through temple court did wind. 
There, in the night, I heard him curse full long 
Man, priest, and God, as usurers of wrong; 

Ay, Montezuma's self his wrath entwined. 

Of his own mind what man may know the face ! 
When the next captive stained our jasper stone, 
That the sun's love be more auspicious bright, 
There was no step, no voice, of such free grace 
As Atzal's, and no eye so keenly shone. 
What of that strange hiatus in the night? 



79 



HESITANT 

Love spake to one in no uncertain tone, 

Saying, "Here are the flowers ; stand now and choose, 
Or all the perfumes of my world ye lose 

Forever. Stand ! make choice ; choose ye but one." 

Now in Love's hands, unwithered of the sun, 
But sweet and moist with charity of dews, 
Were clusters sacred from profaning hues, 

And clusters red as blood and proudly blown. 

And he who was to choose leaned to the white, 
But trembled back, nor craved the fragile grace ; 

And deep in ruby cups, so strong to sight, 
He knew the glow of Death's exulting face. 

So mused he, troubled; and so fled the hours. 

Love left him in that pathway of no flowers. 



80 



DEATH ROCK 

The Trap of Death, a stone electrical, 
In Arizona's mountains of heaped shale, 
Basalt, and porphyry, and granites pale, 

Is shunned, — a thing to fear. No foot may fall, 

Though soft as down of thistle and as small, 
Upon its floor and live; and there's a trail 
Of charnel bones along the rocky vale ; 

And airs of horror shift above it all. 

Yet even this black hell and gorge of death 
Hath its love-story writ against its breast : 

Two, that had fled the tribe, with desperate breath 
Clambered these crags, beyond the sanguine quest ; 

The hot pursuers, surging thick beneath, 

Fell, stricken. — Death and Love that night had rest. 



THE MAGIC FOUNTAIN 

King Nemo's eldest son spurred forth alone, 
His old-young brothers laughing with the king 
At this wild questing and the fabled spring, 

That whoso drank of, though sense void as stone, 

Henceforth would feel Truth's blood his crimson own, 
And glide 'neath gloss and garish covering. 
So, when hoof-beat had died and armor's ring, 

Safe courtier jests about those halls were blown. 

But when, o'er hoofless snows, halting, returned 
Their prince, haggard and white and beggar clad, 

And swept all faces, forms, with eyes that burned, 
The perfumed jest fell back, the welcome glad 

Within the jealous-hating heart was urned, 

And scarce the tongue could whisper : "He is mad." 



KESA, THE LOYAL WIFE 

(As presented by Mme. Yacco and the company of Japanese 
players, of the Imperial Theatre in Tokio.) 

Part strange of gesture, and of language strange, 
The pleasing primal tale of budding love 
With hates and jealousies again is wove 

For hearts that change not, though the whole world 
change, 

And shifty custom fly o'er town and grange : 
For when these lovers meet within the grove 
Of. cherries, and the pink blooms dance above, 

We drop the prompting leaf and with them range. 

Japan ! in thy rude music there's a note 
Of fragrancy that spices. O, thy voice 
Hath tone of simple freshness in it still, 
xAnd, like an aromatic truth, doth fill 
Deceitful interludes of boastful noise 
With essence of an age and clime remote. 



83 



BOCCACCIO 

I, like the weasel, have my special burrow, 

When the wild winds are barbed with sleet or snow : 
He nestles deep 'neath some abandoned furrow; 

I, in my den, regret the summer's glow ; 
Until, haply, I chance on that blithe vendor 

Of summer thoughts, — thy book, Boccaccio,— 
And far Italia's mosaic splendor 

And scenes chivalric soft before me flow. 
Adventures bold, the loves grotesque or tender, 

Fantastic comedy and tragic woe, 
Play then before me cross the gleaming fender, 

And I regret no* more the summer's glow. 
Thou merry craftsman of sweet prose and rhyme, 
Thine is the monarch page for wintertime ! 



84 



CHANCES 

A thought divine, with sudden wings and swift 
Parting the sordid tyrants of the mind, 
Comes, lucent-crested, and we grope, half-blind, 

For the bright meaning. Likewise there will drift, 

So near to us that any soul may lift 
Into its life, rare chances to be kind, 
Which slip and fade where none hath eyes to find, 

Ev'n in that instant we would weigh and sift. 

Vain seemeth then the honor from hard years 
Wrested, and vainer still what wealth uprears ; 

And vain gleams Virtue's lamp — O, all is vain ; 
So there fly not, — as, forest-free, an elf 
Singing may fly, — beyond the walls of self, 

Sweet impulses, out-acted to fair gain. 



85 



THE LIFE-CHAIN 

These links, once washed in heaven's own molten gold, 

And all bright-beaded with elysian dew; 

This tarnished life-chain of lived days — so new, 
So light, so golden-pleasant to behold — 
How heavy now, how gray, how leaden! Cold 

These rings that slip my parted fingers through ; 

Unmusical and harsh, they sound adieu 
To their fled brightness ; all their tale is told. 

Ah, yet, though gross to every eye of day, 
Though proved as false and vain in Truth's assay, 

Some glints and curves of grace these links retain : 
O'er coil cognizant of full-flushing ray 
Now palest gleams of dying fancies play; 

And memories, wan as moonlight, kiss this chain. 



86 



A CONSPIRACY 

Anon the emissaries of low hate 

Came soft upon me through my spirit's night ; 

And all the earth was desolate of light, 
And eke the skies of heaven as desolate; 
And close 'twas whispered, — "Weighing so what fate 

Hath given thee, thou man of petty might, 

This heritage of men, this gift of spite, 
Wilt thou not pay the same in triple weight ?" 

My mind consented, "Yes ;" my heart cried, "No ; 

Keep far the slimy scales, ye reptile crew ! 
Because the lights of day are blurred and low, 

And vapors damp the air with poison-dew, 
Will peace exhale from hate's envenomed flow? 

Can light relume unless love shines anew?" 



87 



THE PLAY 

Not sadness dost thou bring, Melpomene ; 

Not sadness, though thy theme be death, but glow 

Of a clear joy is in me ; and this woe 
Of mimic-life, these sorrows, are to me 
(Viewing them thus, like god of destiny) 

But as light drift of shadow : for I know 

The ending; and w r hen death will wreck them low, 
These lives, ev'n then, love will claim victory. 

But when, O tragic queen, I view thy form 
From the lit portal, or cothurnate feet 
Hear close behind me down the living street, — 

Ah, then, held ignorant, the Erinys-swarm 
Around, mixing life's bitter with life's sweet, 

Darks then thy weight of sadness like a storm. 



AMBITION 

When, general-like, I muse on vast campaigns 
And draw concentered plans within the night; 
How I may scale the sheer Parnassian height, 

Or with bold numbers scour Thessalian plains, — 

Such epic grandeur stirs my heart that strains 
Of shepherd-music deem I poor and slight, 
And all my soul is girded for the fight 

Of conquest and renown and golden gains. 

But sleep comes ; then the day : and lo ! the sun 
That wafts the giant vapors from the field 

Breathes also from my mind what night hath spun; 
And flowers of humbleness, that are revealed 

Beneath that eye of truth, bring then, each one, 
More joy than serried files of warriors steeled. 



8 9 



CHEERFUL PESSIMISM 

As I review what this spent day hath done 

With me, its slave, I can but marvel greatly 
At incongruities of shade and sun, 

At cynic hours and hours serene and stately: 
For deep in Schopenhauer's philosophies, 

My mind, unleashed and venturous for roving, 
Strayed through the morning with attentive eyes ; 

And my tongue sanctioned all in speech approving. 
I said : "How true this is ; and this, how true ! 

How lost is man in hates and misery, 
In ignorance and folly! And this, too, 

The arrogance of women !" — Suddenly, 
Welled in my heart the cadence for a song, 
And I was happy as the day was long. 



90 



ONE GLOW 

So long as I may see bright Phoebus' beams 
Tinting the tremulous castles of the sky, 
And hear, far blown, the forest melody 

That greets all ears of dawn with elfin themes ; 

So long as I may, gliding, muse on streams, 

Past dripping moss and ferns and flowerets shy, 
And talk with Nature ere her face be dry, — 

That long will gentle thoughts and quiet dreams, 

Crusader-like, strong in brave truth to dare, 
Drive from that desecrated fane — the heart, 

White, meager prophets of the creed of care, 
And cleanse of blot and stain its every part. 

Thou bud-crowned Nature! Mother! let me share 
One glow of thine that pales all wiles of Art ! 



91 



TRANQUILLITY 

Lucretius, though thy atom-scheme may be 
Fantastical, of this there is no doubt, — 
That hearts that steer beyond the hue and shout 

Of striving greatness and servility 

Alone may gain the goal, alone be free 

For true life-joy, and do the gauds without; 
Content to view, in humble guise, the rout 

From the safe watch-tower of tranquillity. 

Tranquillity ! a mock-word for the age 
That is all darkly seething with unrest, 

That is so held in strifeful vassalage 

By the curst god that rules the endless quest; 
Yet ev'n to-day that soul serene is blest, 

And through life's tumult wins the fairest wage. 



92 



A GROUP 

Above all others, incomparable, 

Four faces ever bear fresh charm for me — 
The firm white face of brave Antigone; 

Perdita's face, like flower of the dell, 

Dewy and sweet as any fragrant bell; 
Cordelia's face of proved sincerity, 
Aglow, serene; and, of fair hours that be, 

Love's gentlest face, Viola's, rules the spell. 

This group of faces ever brings me charm 
And incense for my heart's repair. The harm 

Of idle, kindless moods they breathe away. 
These faces tell me, through their light and grace, 
That life is good to live and is not base ; 

So the soul holdeth true from day to day. 



93 



HERCULES 

I dreamed of Hercules, the god of might. 

He stood on radiant sands, beneath that fair 

Cool star that diadems the morning's hair, 
Where tossed a gleaming sea of foam and light, 
And shook from shaggy skins the dews of night. 

And, for his musing eyes so placid were, 

So free of mortal madness and of care, 
I said : "O Hercules ! in godhood dight, 
Dost now disdain those valorous deeds of earth 

For which men praise thee with impartial lips? 
Nay, add this task for crown ; add yet this one : 
Teach how a groveling race may stand in worth 

Erect and equal, through the sun's eclipse 

By Plutus' standard." He said : "My toils are done." 



94 



AMERICA— A. D. 1900 

Now fraud and thievery strew thick the tares 
Among fair wheats of honor; and that man 
Who would mix foremost in the striving van 

Must root from out his heart what manhood bears 

For climes of happy sun and sweet soft airs ; 
Must shape his gardens on a grosser plan, 
To brave deceiving winds ; have mind to scan, 

With instant light, the pits, the shoals, the snares. 

And are, America, thine eyes so dim 
To truth ? or dost, in toleration sad, 
Regard the fleeting scandal of a day? 
Thou who mightst lead in honor ! let each limb 
Gigantic with bright native blood be glad ; 

Make thou the exulting wolves crouch and obey ! 



95 



CHARITIES 

Through clamor of the sodden, swarmed streets 

Ran light a voice : "Leave us alone, alone ! 

We asked for bread and have received a stone ; 
Wouldst gild the rock for us, ye canting cheats, 
And say that 'tis the loaf that Pharaoh eats ! 

O, leave us now alone, alone, alone ! 

Or share ripe firstlings of the harvest grown — 
Your mellow fruits, your wines, your oils, your wheats/' 

Leave them alone ; or, as knit brothers, share. 
Lo, pagan days have softened their hard fare, 

And they can still endure in savage dress. 
But let the gift of kindness and free light 
Glow from thee, world, then will be truce to spite ; 

For the unmeasuring heart may take no less. 



9 6 



CHICAGO 

With those who blame their gods for some ill chance 
And rail unwittingly along the dark, 
Stood I, Chicago ! and thy faults were stark 

Before mine eyes— thy giant arrogance, 

The lewdness of thy postures and thy glance, 
Thy brutal, stolid creed, thy sordid arc 
Of widening unrest, — these I did mark ; 

Then hurled at thee my curse, as poisoned lance. 

But when, on distant levels of the plain, 
I mused amid the snapping mongrel crew, 

And saw thee bend not, for complete disdain, 
One mighty sinew from its purpose true, 
But rearing proud and stalwart, — then, I knew 

Thy face in truth ; I was thy son again. 



97 



LOUISIANA 

Dreaming, the bayous gleam beneath the sun, 
Carelessly indolent, and the light air 
So stirless is that it may hardly bear 

Its heritage of odor; mosses, spun 

For the sad oaks, their trails of gray and dun 
Move not, but hang as sculptural; there 
Blows scarce a forest-message anywhere, 

Save when some mocker trills his glowing one. 

Fair Sleeper, sleep ; Louisiana, sleep ! 

Sleep fair as sleeper of the legend tale. 
Let thy robustuous sisters revel deep, 

Or stand before the world, alert and hale : 
They are enough; keep thou thy silence; keep 

The languors of thy dreams and slumbers pale. 



9 8 



FORT MARION 

Dusk ramparts, trodden by adventurous feet 
In the fierce century of blood and spoil, 
Lift, sullen still, their lines above the soil 

They guarded once, nor flag of pirate fleet 

Fear, nor the war-cry and hollow beat 
Of savage drum, nor any blown turmoil 
From land or sea. Only, alone, I toil 

Up silent stones ; the day is glad and sweet. 

I brood not o'er the ruin, nor would tear 

Hushed secrets from its heart — the tyranny, 
The murderous sorrows of the dungeon snare — 

For 'gainst my face the breeze is beating free ; 
Above is blue, below the world is fair, 

And froth the far white breakers of the sea. 

St. Augustine, Fla. 



99 

LcfC. 



WALDEN 

Humiliation of rough ax and flame 

Hath bowed thee, Walden, but thy heart is rude 
Still at free core, and will not be subdued 

To petty creeds and mercenary shame ; 

And still thy soul of silver gleams the same 
As when wild forest eyes o'er thee did brood 
At duskfall ; and thy beauty is renewed, 

Even this day, for one enmeshed and tame. 

Now well he knows by what soft chains and fine, 
Walden, thou held'st one voyager so fast 

That he could make of thee his world's true shrine, 
To be unalterable, and first, and last; 

That he could mock the worlds of toil and ease 

Alike, with cool and stanch philosophies. 
Written at Walden Pond, June 15, 1900. 



100 



EVENING IN CONCORD 

Concord! no happier name on town was graven 

Than thy true-telling name was graven on thee : 

Peace is thy kind and gentle deity, 
And, flattered well, in thee doth make her haven. 
Not Peace with pulses cold and heart grown craven, 

But Peace too great and strong and proud to be 

Other than one with Nature's amity, 
As fair as daisy, and as wise as raven. 

I sit upon a low rude hedge of stone, 
And thy home deity this eve is mine. 

Serene, I blend into thy very tone — 

I am thy note, thy hue at sunset shown; 
Three hallowed spirits weave my heart with thine, 

And thy sweet breath through all my soul is blown. 



101 



THE GRAVE OF EDWIN BOOTH 

No shade of worldly or of mimic grief 

Clouds this green slope, but all is lit and warm ; 
For the sun's spirit, keen in flower and leaf, 

Joys every gentle fern and grassy form. 
So 'tis a cheering thought that here should rest 

One whom the sorrows of two worlds had known, 
Who, with free art, a hundred griefs expressed 

Beyond the cloistered limits of his own. 
Far from Othello's scopeless jealousy, 

Far from the plaintive wail and rage of Lear, 
Far from the web of bloody destiny 

That held Macbeth in meshes of strange fear, 
Far from sad Hamlet's life and hapless doom, — 
Beneath the sun he rests, clear of all gloom. 

Mt. Auburn, Cambridge, Mass. 



102 



"THE MYSTERY OF LIFE " 

(A Painting in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.) 

Blue, beams the star of morning on the sea ; 
And on this scene : — It is the rocky shore, 
Where, through loose jagged cleft, as through a door, 

The waves have borne a woman, sullenly, 

And left her limp and fair — a shell : to be 

No more than shell or weed roughing the floor 
Of crinkled slimy sand, — no more, no more ! 

The fairest pearl o' the tide, no more, is she ! 

And in brown ancient hands, beside that form, 
A head of white is bowed ; and life is warm 

Within the husk of years ; and thoughts are sown — 
Those world-old questionings that flame from men, 
Pale in the night ; that foiled, but leap again 

Round Life's embattled tower, unsealed, unknown. 



103 



AMBER'S ISLAND 

(It is hardly bigger than a Cunarder, this Little Chebeague 
Island, whose name I changed to Avilion, and from wave- 
washed keel to flowery bowsprit the eye never lights upon 
a defilement or a stain.) — "Amber" in "Rosemary and Rue.' 3 

Where the winds blow soft and sweet, 

And the daisies run to meet 

The blue sea down field and slope 

Of rough bank; and where a rope 

Of wild convolvulus vine 

O'er great tumbled rocks doth twine, 

Which the tides do leap to kiss 

Ere they leave the spicy bliss 

And ebb back with low complaining; 

Where the random birds are raining 

From high treasure-vaults of air 

Notes sincere and diamond-rare; 

And the pines are nodding free, 

In a green sufficiency 

Of balm and shade and sunny light; — 

Even there came I : and sight 

And keen odor and borne sound 

Of all things, so clasped around 

And islanded in sapphire sea, 

Were but partly strange to me — 

Misty-clear, as is a page 

Known and loved in a lost age. 

104 



Yes, I surely know this place ! 
Know the fragrance and the grace 
Of these buttercups and daisies, 
And the roses wild, and mazes 
Of the tangled meadow grass 
Where the road doth wind and pass ; 
And I know these birds that sing, 
And these rocks that bear the sting 
Of the salt lips of the sea — 
Surely, they are known to me! 

For this isle is Amber's Isle : 
She its queen, there was no wile 
Of enchantment that is wove 
That it did not weave in love, 
Gracious to all hours of day ; 
And, now she hath gone away, 
Still it duteously weaves 
Beauty for new dawns and eves. 

Now that she hath gone away ! 
"Is she gone, indeed?" I say 
To the flowers that round me dance, 
To the birds that o'er me glance, 
To the rocks, the waves, the sun. 
"She who felt your glory run 
Through her soul, to heal and clear, 
She would not be gone from here; 
From the shores whereon she wooed 
Blessed hours of solitude, 
Dreading to return again 
To the tyrannies of men." 

105 



Stay ! this is no bird I hear, 
Nor a fairy piping near, 
Shepherding his atomies 
Down pale pasture of the breeze- 
No; it is the island's queen, 
Singing, with a voice serene, 
Songs, whereof I will not tell, — 
Knowing, surely, all is well. 
Casco Bay, Me. 



1 06 



STEPHEN CRANE 

No stone doth mark, as yet, nor mar this grave 
Of one who wrote of heroes, and, as brave 
Himself as any hero of the field, 
Fell; fell with glory blazoned on his shield. 
So here, before a stone may tell the fame, 
And letter coldly to the world his name, 
I'll pluck this daisy from the clusters round 
And plant it loosely in the new-turned mound; 
The symbol white perchance may soothe the bed 
Of one who wrote with War's own pen of red. 
Elizabeth, N. /., July 8, 1900. 



107 



JACK— A DOG 

"Within two months," I said, "he will forget, 
And in new mould his fluent thought be set." 
Dog and dear comrade of the grassy ways, 
How lightly judged in careless-worded phrase ! 
For, in that time, came winging down the road, 
From green abandoned paths (together trod 
By us, when holding tenure and free lease 
On Summer's riches and her gift of peace) 
Wreathing, in sudden white, the wind of Death, 
And "Jack" was written by that vaporous breath. 
Dog and dead comrade of the grassy ways ! 
With pen as vaporous, your name I'll raise 
A moment more along the failing air : 
Of all that Time will give, dear comrade, share ! 



1 08 



BELLE ISLE 

Queen isle of beauty is the sweet Belle Isle; 
And bears the honor queen-like, with the smile 
And true regality of gentle breeding 
Alike for poor and rich. She would be feeding, 
Ever magnanimous, her subjects dear 
From the full measures of her verdant cheer, 
And soothing every heart where worry presses, 
And smoothing every brow with soft caresses. 
Ay, that same grace that charmed the barky prow 
Of Pontiac's braves doth gleam a welcome now. 
No longer wild, as then, but part retaining 
The ancient spirit whilst benignly reigning, 
Queen isle of beauty, thou art still Belle Isle. 
Happy my heart to share this day thy smile ! 
Belle Isle, Mich., July 29, 1900. 



109 



LAKE MICHIGAN 

Thou lake of storm and dream, 
That hold'st of life the key, 
There is no wave for me 
But these the waves of thee ! 

There is no blue of stream, 
But fair thou show'st it ; 

The ocean's note supreme, 
Thou know'st it ! 

When torn with bitter thought, 
And bled the sightless wound, 
And ne'er a friend was found 
On all the guarded ground, — 

Ah, thou refused me not, 
But sought to ease me ; 

Ay, ever, ever sought 
To please me. 

And in thy gentlest tone 

Gave song so soothing sweet 
That not a heart might beat 
And be unsoothed by it : 

There was no ticement known 
Thou didst not bring me, 

To lure from land of stone, 
And wing me, 

no 



And mount me high above 
My low and meager days, 
Till, through no falsing haze, 
I saw and scorned the maze ; 

Until I saw that love 
Alone was sparkling, 

When life's most regal grove 
Stood darkling. 

Or with thy thunder-tone 

Gav'st thou such hint of power 
That all my griefs did cower 
And die in foamy shower; 

And left me clean and lone, 
At thee to wonder, 

And at thy magics blown, 
And thunder. 

Thou lake of storm and dream, 
That hold'st of life the key, 
There is no wave for me 
But these the waves of thee ! 

There is no blue of stream, 
But fair thou show'st it ; 

The ocean's note supreme, 
Thou know'st it ! 



in 



SINGING THY HOPES 

Singing thy hopes through the summer-green valleys, 
Over clean fields to the woodland's cool alleys, 
Still mayst thou wander down mossiest slopes, 
Singing thy hopes ! 

For on a day when the world's bitter malice 
Stung like a goad, fleeing hovel and palace, 
I heard thee, unseen, where the forest glade opes, 
Singing thy hopes. 

And now, as I sit on my seat in the galleys, 
Comes the song of thy heart and inspires and rallies; 
And often I bend with the oars and the ropes, 
Singing thy hopes. 



112 



BALLADE OF THE GRAY WOLF 

When our sun rolls high and our earth is bland, 
And the seas are kin with the smooth blue sky, 

And the drowsiest month is queen of the land, 
And her butterfly rule is too sweet to deny, 
And the heart is a bower where fairies may lie, 

And ichor of g*ods runs swift with the blood, — 
Do we tell a light thought, of thoughts that fly, 

How the gray wolf slinks from his preyless wood ? 

Xo, never a one ! But our thoughts we band 

In the silken bands of a chosen dye ; 
Or loosing them, still outhold the hand, 

And flatter them ever, and keep them nigh, 

To dance in the warmth of a self-pleased eye : 
And openly clap them and shout "good, good/' — 

So furtive, so fearful lest they should spy 
How the gray wolf slinks from his preyless wood. 

But our sun rolls low and our earth is spanned 
By the arches of gloom and winds that sigh, 

And chill in a desolate road we stand, 
Unpitied and scorned of the passers-by, 
And the cold stars mock our wherefore and why, 

And there is no light in the dusk of our mood ; 
Ah, then w r e see, though the darknesses ply, 

How the gray w r olf slinks from his preyless wood. 

"3 



L'Envoi 

Ye travelers that travel so shod and dry, 

Ye beggars stained with the dust and the flood, 

Turn boldly and face this same verity, — 

How the gray wolf slinks from his preyless wood. 



114 



TRIOLETS 

THE LOST DREAM 

A dream that was lost 

In the faraway dreamland, 
By years overmossed, — 

A dream that was lost 
Peers wraithlike, a ghost, 

From Futurity's beamland- 
A dream that was lost 

In the faraway dreamland. 

HUNGER 

Hungers the heart 

With hunger unceasing : 
Alone and apart, 
Hungers the heart ; 
In crowd and in mart 

There is no appeasing : 
Hungers the heart 

With hunger unceasing. 

A NEST OF LAST YEAR 

O'er this nest of last year, 

By the light birds forsaken, 
I bend and I peer ; 
For this nest of last year, 

lis 



As my heart is, is dear; 

And the warm tears are shaken 
O'er this nest of last year, 

By the light birds forsaken. 

I HAVE SUNG 

I have sung my free song, 
And the singing suffices. 

To unharkening throng 

I have sung my free song ; 

Mid the world's right and wrong, 
That suns hearts or ices, 

I have sung my free song, 
And the singing suffices. 



116 



A FLOWER 

In a forest bower, 

Hid from human sight, 

Grew a nameless flower, 
Beautifully white. 

And the dewdrops kissed it 

In the early light, — 
Kissed, and washed the flower 

Beautifully white. 

And the busy squirrels, 
From the treetops' height 

Came to view the flower, 
Beautifully white. 

And the birds of passage, 
Pausing in their flight, 

Sang unto the flower, 
Beautifully white. 

Till a cruel maiden, 

Eager as the day, 
Crowned, and blossom-laden, 

Forced a pathless way ; 

117 



And, plucking the flower, 

Beautiful and white, 
Bore it through the forest 

In too wild delight : 

For, dashing the brambles, 

She, in sudden spite, 
Threw away that flower, 

Beautifully white. 

Broken, and unnoticed 

In its bruised plight, 
Died the little blossom, 

Beautifully white. 

And the birds and squirrels, 
They were sad that night; 

For they'd missed the flower, 
Beautifully white. 

Ah ! but what's a flower 
In a world of might — 

But one nameless flower, 
Beautifully white! 

Flaunting blues and purples 
Nod on left and right ; 

What's a nameless flower, 
Beautifully white! 

Ah ! though rived and perished, 

Lost in utter blight, 
In some heart 'tis cherished, 

Beautifully white. 

118 



LULLABY 

In this hush of night 
Who can fright thee? • 
(Blossom, blossom, nestle close!) 
Lo, the fireflies light thee 
With swift golden light ; 
Each is spurred by fairy knight : 
They would lure thee, with those gleams, 
To strange dreams. 
(Blossom, nestle close!) 

But these arms shall fold — 
Guard and fold thee. 
(Blossom, blossom, nestle close!) 
Though the fairies scold me, 
Though they bribe with gold, 
Still these arms shall hold, shall hold; 
And a faithful haven keep 
For sweet sleep. 
(Blossopn, nestle close!) 



119 



A FAIRY'S SONG 

Through the oak and fir, 

Love, the zephyrs stir; 

Near you were, dear you were, 

Were you only mine — 
But thy fancy ranges ; 
Thou'rt for other granges ; 
Singing light, winging bright, 

In this starry shine. 

So I'll croon alone; 
Faithless elf, begone! 
Maddest one, saddest one 

Of a wanton line. 
Ah ! thy heart upspringeth . , 
Ah ! how fair he wingeth ; 
Singing light, winging bright 

Through the starry shine. 



120 



A GIFT OF THE SEA 

There was commotion in the pines : 
The saplings shook with dread ; 

For on the sand-beach, at their feet, 
A white-plumed bird lay dead. 

The saplings were but innocents, 
Nor knew of life or death; 

Their only visitor, the breeze, 
Spoke with but half his breath. 

He told them of the tropic isles 
Where played the sons of palm ; 

And nestled they by mother trees, 
And drank sweet draughts of balm. 

Till tired grew the gray old sea 
To hear such prattling tone ; 

And so before their tender feet 

This white-plumed bird was thrown 

Emotion swayed the parent boughs, 
And fled the glossing breeze ; 

But ere another morning broke, 
The sapling pines were trees. 

121 



OVERWHELMED 

The day is too long for me, strong for me; lo! I am 
sinking, 
Borne to earth by mere odor and sound and swift 
golden spears of the sun : 
Bold 'gainst the morning I ranged, and battled, un- 
shrinking — 
Now, overwhelmed by a zephyr, by wave-purl outdone. 

For the day is too long for me, strong for me ; summer 
breath sweeps me, 
And I toss to its will as a blade in world of fragrance 
and dew, 
And my lance it is shattered and hopeless, and the 
victor keeps me 
Deep in a prison of green and gold and purple and 
blue. 

Ah, thou day too long for me, strong for me, hadst thou 
but ended 
Faint ere the noon, I had stood, dear fighting and 
strong; 
Thou hadst not withed me and drowsed me, till, so unde- 
fended, 
I fail 'neath the front of an odor, a color, a song! 

122 



WHAT DIFFERENCE ? 

To sing of life or death — 

What difference? 
Life wears the flowers of death, 
Death life's buds beareth. 

Waste not breath. 

But view both flowers and buds, 

Snow-cold of sense : 
They are but flowers and buds, 
On Acre of Moods, 

In Dream Woods. 



123 



JUST A DAY 

Just an hour 

For bird and flower 

Then? 

Then, child, away. 

Just an hour 

For lovelit bower . . 

Then? 

Then, youth, away. 

Just an hour 

For rule, for power 

Then? 

Then, man, away. 

Just a day 

To round, portray. 

And then? 

Ah! where away? 



124 



GULLS 

To the gulls I spoke, — 

"Fools, to pursue, 
Through streamers of smoke, 

This blot on the blue; 

'To barter the wide 
Clean fields of the sea 

For scraps from the side — 
Beggars are ye !" 

But the gulls laughed loud: 

"Beggars? 'tis true; 
And fools in the bargain — 

To do as ye do!" 



I2s 



FAVORS 

And the world will be asking for favors, 
From meridian glow to pale end, 

With palate and tongue for all flavors, 
And face disguised as a friend. 

And neighbor will purr over neighbor, 
Or threaten, or grovel to slime, 

To gain a poor tithe of his labor 
Or money or power or time. 

O a health to the lord of the jungles 
That leaps with a roar on his prey 

And through his successes and bungles 
Declares a vouched purpose to slay! 

And health to that Nature who grumbles 
And rumbles her warnings from far 

To the ear of the city that crumbles 
Beneath the doom of its star ! 

But the world will be asking for favors, 
From noon till the crash of its end, 

With tongue drooling creams of all savors, 
And voice purring gently, — "My friend." 



126 



MATERIAL 

Death glared on one with horrid eyes, 
And said : ''Prepare, arise I" 

As he made ready, 

Serene and steady, 
Death cried : "No, no; not so ! 

Alone Til go." 

Now through the shadow of that vale, 
Up bubbled nigh this wail, — 

"Kind Death, but spare me; 

I'll nightly prayer thee." 
Death seized that scuff : "Enough ! 

You're proper stuff." 



127 



THE SCREEN 

As once I went I spied a rent 

Along the smiling screen, 
And through I spied. On every side, 

Ah, what revolt was seen ! 

There, high, I saw the flaming law — 

A disk on distant hill — 
But, nigh, I saw no prostrate awe, 

But men erect to kill. 

And bullets flew and pierced and slew, 

Yet shed no drop of blood ; 
Though men were shot, they knew it not 

And as unscathed stood. 

And rich and poor, the sage, the boor, 
Were robbed, and robbers, too ; 

But that it stole believed no soul 
In all the thieving crew 7 . 

And licensed lust of dust for dust, 

Enwound with loop of gold, 
Was fiercely fain to rend the chain 

Ere yet the links were cold. 

I backwards bent and gazed intent 

Upon that smiling screen : 
It was as fair as azure air 

Or groves jocund and green. 

128 



DESERTERS 

Love and Glory fade 

Down the glade ; 
Kiss they smilingly the rose-tipt fingers. 

I am left alone. 

How the sea doth moan ! 
Sunset lingers. 

Ye wise stars, aglow 

O'er me now, 
Would we scar this hour for Love, for Glory? 

Let them flee apace ; 

They have had their place 
In the story. 



129 



A BURIAL 

'Neath a sky of lead 

One was laid to rest ; 
And a prayer was said, — 

" Tis all for best." 
But out in the roadway, 

Glad, the children played, 
And a sanguine hunter 

Through the near woods preyed. 

And I bent my head 

Lowly to the breast, 
While the prayer was said, — 

" Tis all for best." 
Yet, out in the roadway, 

Shrill, the children played ; 
And, with eager echo, 

Near, that hunter preyed. 



130 



PEBBLES 

Children laugh at pebbles thrown 

From the shore — 
Pebbles that, when they are gone, 

Gleam once more, 
With the native shingle strown. 

Then, what though the songs I sing 

Have been sung? 
Brought the votive wreath I bring ? 

Though, where clung 
"Was," "Is," 'neath "Shall Be," I string? 



131 



A SKETCH 

On the sands a gull, 

Lying, 
Wearied to the full, 

Dying. 
All the meadows near, 

Singing 
Happy notes and clear 

Ringing. 

The expanse, a shield, 

Glistening. 
One that walks afield 

Listening, 
Happy-hearted, strong, 

Sending 
Self to wave and song, 

Blending. 

All the meadows near, 

Singing 
Happy notes and clear 

Ringing. 
On the sands a gull, 

Lying, 
Wearied to the full, 

Dying. 

132 



MYSELF 

Thoughts spring, fly and die, 
And leave no print behind; 

But that I am I, 

I know with steadfast mind : 

Through all the whirl and glow, 

Only this I know, — 
That I am I. 

Oft they lure me far, 

These stranger thoughts that come, 
Some as high as star, 

And some as low as tomb ; 
Yet through all chill, all glow, 
Only this I know, — 

That I am I. 

Welcome then, ye thought, 

To take what cord ye find, 
Tie in glowing knot, 

And all my fancies bind; 
For yet I still shall know, 
Lure ye high or low, 

That I am I. 



133 



MY HOUSE 

Stood I in a palace of stone, 

Wonderful, fretted ; it shone, 

For soft lamps were statued in rows. 

I said : " Tis my house. 

My treasures ! Fve known them of yore — 

Greek, Roman, Arabian, Hindoo." 
The owner strolled in at the door; 

I left by a window. 

Stood I at noon in a hut- 
Dank, and from sunshine 'twas shut 
By castles of ominous brows. 
I said: "Be my house! 
From threads white and simple I'll weave 

Such guises the gods may deem proper." 
A beggar returned in the eve ; 

I flung back a copper. 

Shelterless, stood I aloof. 

"Doming or low, if a roof 

I'd have in these alien lands, 

I must build with hands." 

So gathered I stones and great boughs, 

And sand, with the quick limes to mingle : 
Even now on the tree of my house 

I'll place this frail shingle. 

134 



THE FROST-WORLD 

Late stood I with the crew, 

Surly and mutinous; 
Now, Fm Columbus, too; 

From ship, — my house — 
A virgin world I view. 

I ope my door, and range. 

In elf-tome history 
No plan of world so strange 

As world I see, 
This once familiar grange. 

My world ! so white it is ! 

As ghosts had strown the seed,- 
Had strown it wide amiss, 

For plant, for weed, 
To crown the realm of Dis ; 

To heap with purity 
To free and fair excess, 

That this, the mystery, 
No eye should guess — 

How nigh its hell might be. 

135 



What ! shall this world of mine 
Prove but as worlds of earth : 

Swart gloom below the shine, 
Sorrow 'neath mirth, 

False the true-seeming line ? 

And I, Columbus-like, 

And shall I too bear chains 

If I my banner spike 
In these domains? 

No matter ! Forward ! Strike ! 



136 



TRUTH 

Truth ! it is the yeast 

In this dough we knead, 
Tis the fecund seed 
Midst the rock and weed, — 
Truth ! it is the least, 
And greatest ; 
AYorst, and first, and best, 
And latest. 

For a grain, so small 
That no eye can view, 
Gives the essence true 
Unto virtue's hue : 
Vices, blown and tall, 
Who'd follow- 
But some tinct makes Saul 
Apollo ! 

Truth's the good and bad, 
And the heaven and hell, 
The hope-knolling bell, 
Joy's light marriage swell ; 
Truth is burial sad, 
And revel — 
Nude, a god; ill-clad, 
A devil. 

137 



NO KIN 

Chancing on the sculptured form 

Of Shakespeare, one heart grew warm 

In a passer's breast, as he 

Through the park strolled restfully; 

And before the bronze he stood 

In a reverential mood, 

Feeling some of grandeur flow 

From those days of long ago ; 

Musing with the poet-king 

At the glad creative spring. 

Soon he heard a voice exclaim,— 

"Stop, and look; Shakespeare's the name!" 

"He's no relative of mine," 

Came the answer ; "let's go dine." 

With a careless sneer 'twas said. 

On they passed with oxen tread. 

No, no relative of yours ! 
Naught of kin is he to boors ; 
To the herds that downward root, 
Though above hang bloom and fruit. 
No ; but he is relative 
To the souls that flame and live 
On the mountain crags of white, 
Leaping brightly to the light. 

138 



He is relative to all 

That are great or that are small ; 

So each doth, of self, unfold 

Some true characters in gold; 

So each doth aspire to wing 

'Bove the clays that smirch and cling; 

So each doth some fragrance give — 

He to such is relative. 

But to those who bear the chain 

Of a single life profane 

How can he be relative? 

They, ere birth, have ceased to live. 



139 



BALZAC 

The world of Balzac 

Is a world grown black 
With avarice, vice, and stupidity ; 

And money's the honey 

For lips harsh or bonny, 
And the capital town is Cupidity. 

'Tis there one may start 

With bravado heart, 
And a brave purse where clink louis d'or; 

But when he's felt many 

Hard stabs from that pen, he 
Will rejoice o'er a sou, through the floor. 

Yet this world Balzac 

Does oft lure me back 
From plumed worlds of romance and vanity ; 

For though it is low, it 

Is life as we know it 
In the sordid sad world of humanity. 



140 



EMILY DICKINSON 

The gentle red clover 
Was huge for her song, 

The bee slipping over 
A theme giant-strong. 

And grass blades were lances, 

And fertile of might 
A wave's silver glances, 

An orchard bough white. 

Yet sable Death, winging, 
Not o'er flew her song, 

Nor for her brave singing 
His strong theme too strong. 



141 



THE PALE HERDERS 

While asses bray and bulls do bellow loud, 
And stir the adulations of the crowd, 

Why do the Hamlets and the Amiels 
Still herd strange sheep beyond that bulwark cloud? 

Why do they herd unmarketable sheep 
Along the stunted verdures of the steep, 

When they might make a music for the crowd? 
Or take no heed at all, and guardless sleep? 

Yet there they sit, so pale in reverie 
That travelers mark the sad impotency, 

And shrug and laugh, or pityingly say: 
"Alas, alas, such wilfulness should be!" 

But some, who look with more undusted gaze, 
Note the strange sheep, and linger on their ways ; 
And some to hold such idle crook were fain— 
But O, how chill it is through evening grays ! 

New asses bray, new bulls do bellow loud. 
And stir new adulations of the crowd — 

But still the Hamlets and the Amiels 
Herd their pale sheep beyond the bulwark cloud. 



142 



CAPACITY 

Prod not thyself for thought — 
Thought that is aught 
Will come unsought. 

But where thy treasures are, 
Leave thou some door ajar; 
They'll steal from far, 

These naked thoughts, to dress 
In thee their nakedness. 
Ah, may they bless 

The garnered store they find — 
Not face to giftless wind, 
Naked, unkind! 



143 



FRIENDS 

"Be friend to thyself; 

Tis thy lone hope : 
All else in life 

Is bubbled from soap"- 
Thus, down every age, 
Hath spoke every sage. 

And, truth, it needs not 
The brain of a seer 

To read life's screed — 
'Tis written clear. 

Keep home in thy shell 

And all will go well. 

"But 'tis so lone here !" 

Not so, — explore: 
I knew one who found 

Friends, true, and four- 
Books, nature, a dog, 
And a crackling log. 



144 



ROMANCES 

A sage, from his mountain, 
Strayed down to the vale ; 

He paused at a fountain, 
Himself to regale. 

Two lovers, there loving, 
He presently spied ; 

To his glance, reproving, 
They boldly replied : 

"Old dotard, why fret thee 
At life, as 'tis known? 

Go onward, and get thee 
Romance of thine own." 

Then sang they a ditty 
From love's dreamy page ; 

He entered the city. 

What there saw this sage ? 

Romances of dollars : — 
A romance of mart, 

A romance of scholars, 
A romance of art, 

145 
10 



A romance of pleasure, 
A romance of gall — 

Yea, life there did measure 
Out romance for all. 

But back to his mountain 
Climbed he from the vale, 

Nor stopped at the fountain, 
His soul to regale. 



146 



THE VETERANS 

(Parade of the G. A. R. at Chicago, Aug. 28, 1900. ) 

Hurrah ! 

On they march, 
Through the white and welcoming arch, 
Veterans, grim and bent and gray- 
Clear the way ! 
Some step spruce to fife and drum; 

Some 
Scarce may bear the toiling frame, 

But game ! 
Every eye's aglow with pride, 
Every face is vivified, 

Every heart 
Feels and acts its better part. 
Hard antagonistic days, 

Diverse ways, 
Thoughts, opinions, prejudice 

Hedge like ice : 
But to-day one sun is glowing, 

x\nd, for all, 
Lo, a common stream is flowing 

Magical. 
They are brothers, — brothers still! 

Time may kill, 

147 



But no lesser hand can sever. 

Brothers ever ! 
Sworn to each in drench of blood, 

In marsh and vale and wood. 
These were linked by links of pain 

From Shiloh's hellish chain: 
These ! what forged their brotherhood ? 
Gettysburg's encrimsoned hill : 

And these stood 
Ranged on field of Chancellorsville : 
And these? 
These knew the stress 
Of the fateful Wilderness, 
And fought with Death amid the scraggy trees. 

Hurrah ! 
We'll cheer again, 
And still again, again, 
Ye iron men ! 
Veterans that tread to-day your last great march ! 
On, on; 
Beyond our welcoming arch, 
Beyond all praises won, 
On, 
Ev'n to the final camp, and stack your arms. 
Ye heed no more alarms, 

Your part is played; 
Above your furled rags, 

This reverence paid, 
We'll raise our newer flags. 



148 



THE CROWN OF BLOOD 

Death held a blood-red crown. 
"Which head," he said, 
4 'Of all the hundred heads, may bear this blood-red 
crown ?" 
The century of years 
Upheld their dripping spears. 
''Aline !" "Mine !" they cried, as each would cry his 
fellows down. 
Death frowned: 
' 'Silence! or I depart, and none be crowned/' 
Back rolled the wave of noise ; 
But one assured voice 
Advanced : 
"I am that year, 
Across whose carmine path War, smiling, glanced — 
Bloody and large and near. 
The crown divine 
Is miner 
Advanced a voice of thunder, — 
"Not so ; 'tis mine ! 'tis mine 
For cities rent asunder. 
Tumbled the dusk leagues under. 
All hence! 

149 



'Tis mine; 'tis mine!" 

Hissed then, 

As from a serpent's torpid den, 

In loathsome whine, 
The year of Pestilence, — 
"'Tis mine!" 
"Liar!" 
Shrieked the mad year of Fire ; 
" Tis mine — mine !" 
"Never ! but mine ! 
Blest year of Wind and Flood, 
To me the crown of blood." 
So blustered they: 
But the last year of all outspoke serene and sure,- 
"I was an epicure, 
Nor gorged my prey; 
So all thy gods, O Death, grew kind and wrested 
All honors down." 
Death gave to him the crown. 
No voice protested. 



150 



HYGEIA 

There is one goddess of the sacred hill 
That men may worship still — 

Hygeia, thou white of foot, thou bright of tress! 
There is one name beyond our profanation, 
One place to kneel and pour the clear libation 
In all heart-singleness. 

Beneath the limpid skies Thessalian, 
Lo, what world-caravan! 

Pale votaries of renounced gods, they come ! 
No charm circean now, no bacchic revel, 
Can stir the lip to mirth or lock dishevel : 
Unmoved they kneel and dumb; 

Lifting thy pearls, O goddess, 'gainst the sun, 
That thou mayst smile thereon ; 

Quaffing each sanctioned drop that sparkling plays. 
A kindred voice they own, these voices many, — 
A kindred voice for praise, — nor praise thee any 
That chant not thus the praise : — 

'Thou sole lone goddess of the sacred hill 

That men may worship still — 
Hygeia, thou white of foot, thou bright of tress! 
That yet one name doth live for adoration, 
That yet one fane doth feel the poured libation, 
We can but kneel to bless ! 

Hygeia, regnant! 
Behold, we kneel and bless !" 

151 



"YOUTH" 

(A portrait by Henri Rondel.) 

Eyes that grasp one — half 
In a roguish laugh, 
Half in regal scorn, 
As by goddess worn; 
Cheeks aglow, and hair 
Flowing thick and fair : 
Face that is the prayer 
Of Pleasure. 

Keen, and glad, and clear! 
Nectars nourish her. 
Let the gods complain; 
She, as proud, will drain 
Hebe's cherished cup : 
When they sit and sup, 
Lo! she snatcheth up 
That measure. 

Raptured, as she moves, 
Not a heart reproves ; 
All the heaven is hers 
And the godly spheres. 
Youth! thou know'st that Earth 
Needeth more thy mirth — 
Thou, her dearest birth 
And treasure ! 

152 



SPOILERS 

I loosed my fancies in a wood — 

An autumn wood. 
I said : "Bring gold, for me to hold 

Through winter's cold, 
That in the mind may clink, 
And russet cloak, from beech or oak, 
And blood for me to drink/' 
I loosed my fancies in that wood — 

An autumn wood. 

Back stole those spoilers through the wood- 

The autumn wood. 
They said : "No gold, nor mantle fold, 

Nor blood behold; 
To toss, to wear, to drink. 
Our strongest plot availed us naught 
To force one lightest link." 
I slew my fancies in that wood — 

The autumn wood. 



153 



A MINUTE WITH SHAIKH SAADI 

Let gem sink basely in the mire, 
It doth remain the same rare stone ; 

Let dust of earth to heaven aspire, 
Yet, even there, as dust 'tis known. 



A wise man, like an ointment vase, 
Is silent and of virtues full ; 

The babbler, drumlike, irks the place 
With noise, yet empty is and dull. 



As snarling market curs out fly 
At sporting dogs industrious, 

So men of idle breed decry 
The busy names illustrious. 



A tongue of oil will oft unlock 

What arguing wisdom may not stem ; 

For ignorance is as a rock, 
And so can bruise the brightest gem. 



The sinner, prodigal and free, 

Who lifts some sadness from the day, 

Is better than the devotee 

Who begs and hoards the gold away. 

154 



The evil fortunes of the good 
But turns their faces to the sky, 

While the fair fortunes of the rude 
Links them but closer to their sty. 



Though dress from sovereign's hand be fair, 
Yet seems our own rough garb completer ; 

The great man's feast 'tis sweet to share, 
But yet our poor home-foods are sweeter. 



Two persons labored to vain end- 
One gathered wealth and did not spend ; 
The other gained, by books and wit, 
Science, — but did not practice it. 



That which is musk we know by smell, 

Not by what crafty labels tell : 

If ye be skilled, O Painter, Poet, 

Ye need not speak, your work will show it. 



On same served joint ten people feast, 
But two dogs snarl o'er stricken beast. 
Greed, with a world, is still unfed; 
Content dines rich on crust of bread. 



Not every man that's glib of tongue 
In mart may mix the shrewd among; 
And many a gracious form and slight, 
The veil withdrawn, — O, what a fright ! 



155 



THE LAMP 

(A Persian Episode.) 

Lo! stood my bright beloved 

Before me in the door. 
I rose, and my sleeve, sweeping, 

The feeble flame o'erbore. 

Laughed she, — "O slave to darkness ! 

Why didst thou quench the light, 
Ev'n on my steps of entrance, 

And leave us girt with night ?" 

I said: "Thou moon-faced charmer! 

What worth that petty glow, 
When, at thy smile, effulgence 

Doth through the chamber flow? 

"Besides, what saith the wise man, — 
'When comes thy love, and charms, 

Extinguish thou the taper 
And catch her in thy arms/ " 



156 



HAMEH 

Zafir slew his soul one night 
With a sword of flaming light, 
And he sought his peace in flight. 

But from town to desert's rim, 
Through whirled sand and shadow dim, 
Lo, the corpse he dragged with him, 

Till, beneath a craggy knoll, 
Stumbling on, he found a hole — 
Therein laid he down his soul. 

And he said: "Thou angel-fiend, 
That I sheltered soft and screened ; 
Thou, who blazed and flared and sheened, 

"Using me as quivering veil 
For thy fires of red and pale 
To glint through, — as samite frail, 

"Fluttering from side to side, 
Tween the winds of lust and pride 
And the sweet airs purified, — 

"Thee, ay, thee, this hand hath slain. 
Lo, the rival lights are ta'en 
From thy altar-home and fane. 

157 



"I am free of thee — 'tis well ! 
In third heaven ineffable, 
Let the angel Azrael, — 

"Azrael, the dutiful, 

Shed a tear divine and cool, 

From his book thy name annul. 

"Yet Til lay thee towards the West, 
Meccaward, for thy full rest. 
Now I leave thee; so 'twere best." 

And thereon, for nights and days, 
Wandered he the barren ways, 
Idly as the hoof that strays, 

Till he gained, with heart elate, 
Jowf's fair palms of shade and date. 
Grasped he firm his staff of fate. 

Low he bent o'er trickling stream. 
"Now," cried he, "I live my dream ! 
Gentler than these drops that gleam, 

"Shall my new days quietly 
Flow to ocean." From a tree 
Shrilled, all sudden/ 'Iskoonee!"* 

O'er that face the wind of pain 

Swept, and glanced the lightning's chain ; 

Then his brow was cleared of stain. 



*"Give me drink 1" 

158 



And ere the repeated word 

From the boughs again was heard, 

Spake he, in calm, — "O hameh-bird, 

"Well I know thy voice : I heed ; 
So would I, though girdling steed 
Of the dauntless Nejdee breed; 

"So would I, though borne serene, 
Where the air is cool and clean, 
A roc's mighty wings between. 

"Sound no more thy 'Iskoonee ;' 
Thou shalt have thy drink of me— 
Wait but till the stars I see." 

Zafir slew himself that night 
With his sword of flaming light, 
And the hameh-bird took flight. 



159 



DAUGHTER OF DIVES 

Wines of Sharon and Sorek, 
And the rich red rose of love, — 

Can they lure thy griefs away? 
From thy life the stings remove? 



We saw her through the portal-gate, 
Fair as fair flowers she sat among, 

And handmaidens on her did wait, 
And for her cheer they sweetly sung. 

No note was there might bring her cheer, 
Though delicate of tone and string ; 

Her eyes were wild as eyes of deer, 
And heaved her breast with passioning. 

Wines of Sharon and Sorek, 
And the rich red rose of love, — 

Can they soothe these griefs away; 
Can they ease the sting thereof? 

To us, through moonshine pale, she came- 
As fragile-fair, a beam of night! 

Ev'n to the haggard house of shame 
Came she, so spiritlike and white, 

1 60 



And said, — "If you have that to give 
That is not hard of self, and chill 

As gold, then bid my heart to live, 
That is so bound, so torn, so ill." 

Wines of Sharon and Sorek, 
And the rich red rose of love, — 

Can they wile such grief away? 
From such heart the sting remove? 

We saw her, ere the dawn had grown 
To day and knew a crown of gold, 

Down pace the porticoes, alone, 

With black bent head and eyelids cold. 

From her white robes we saw a gleam 
Of quick light glitter through the gray. 

We saw her fall. As in a dream, 
We knelt above her where she lay. 

Wines of Sharon and Sorek, 
And the rich red rose of love, 

Could not lure thy grief away — 
From thy life the sting remove ! 



161 
11 



AT MIZPEH 

White wools we spun, our hearts at flight 

With missel thrush and locust bird 
That made the summer orchards bright, 

Through casement heard. 
(Sweet child of Jephthah's! how thy song doth flow- 
Sweeter it soothes than balms of Jericho.) 

Pure robes enwrapped us, soft and new, 

And with lithe gold our arms were glad, 
The fillets of our hair were blue; 

So we were clad. 
(Fair child of Jephthah's ! how thy face doth show- 
Fairer to see than Hermon's velvet snow.) 

She said: "My father's note I hear; 

He hath o'erthrown the waxen hosts. 
Why, when such victor draweth near, 

Keep we like ghosts?" 
(Bold child of Jephthah's ! how thine eye doth glow- 
Bolder of glance than oryx netted low\) 

Placed we sweet chaplets on the head, 

And timbrels beat, close following ; 
She danced before with measured tread, 

And bade us sing. 
(Light child of Jephthah's ! how thy feet do go — 
Lighter of pace than desert-dwelling roe.) 

162 



Stern Jephthah rent his robe atwain ; 

He looked on her with fearful eyes. 
"Alas, my child, thou art but slain 

For sacrifice. " 
(Pale child of Jephthah's ! pale of cheek art thou — 
Paler thy cheeks than foam or blossoming bough.) 

She said : "Father, let this be done ; 

But for two months, so God will wait, 
Among the hills we will bemoan 

My maiden fate/' 
(Brave child of Jephthah's ! vanquisher of woe — 
Braver thy heart than warrior s, fronting foe.) 

God smiled that day that she was slain- — 

There was no fleck in the fair sky — 
For sacrifice more free of stain 

Never did die. 
(Pure child of Jephthah's ! pure of soul, we know — 
Purer thy soul than any maid's below.) 



163 



MARY MAGDALENE 

(Lysanias, tetrarch of Abilene, to his nephew Narcirns at 

Athens?) 

Narcirus, dear Narcirus, hadst thou known 
How those few words of thine, so lightly strown 
O'er tabula borne hitherward to me 
At Rome — words traced, I doubt not, carelessly; 
For on you sweep (I see the impatient start!) 
To matters far afield — loosed in my heart 
The dumb and prisoned passion of pent years, 
And fire of sighs, and water of swift tears, — 
O, wonder then had whelmed thee as a cloud! 
It was as though some regal shape and proud 
Had met me in the temple's silent space 
And had with hands majestical for grace 
Waved me across that silence, silently, 
Ev'n to the white shrine of Mnemosyne. 
For memories came more sudden than keen flight 
Of birds, dim seen in pale autumnal light- 
Gold memories of days full glorious. 

So now, Narcirus, in the imperial house 

Of Claudius, where, for a restless week, 

I must remain, and nod and laugh, and speak 

Idly, and flatter with the flattering throng, 

Fll analyze for thee those surges strong — 

164 



Those memories — and haply so may find 
Relief and blessed solace for my mind, 
Ere back to Abilene I retire ; 
And write, as well, those answers you desire. 

For you must know that this Mercurius, 

This bold chief speaker, Paul, that didst arouse 

Such stir and clamor in the hill of Mars 

With doctrines of new life beyond the stars; 

Who preached the Unknown God, — ay, such an one 

That sent to die on earth his only son 

And raised him from the mute and joyless dead 

(So runs the story that this sect hath spread) 

For a true sign to men; — why, this man, this Paul — 

Full twenty years ago the Tarsian, Saul — 

I knew and loved. He was to me, in truth, 

The dearest friend and comrade of my youth. 

Not any night of utmost revelry, 

But if his face were lacking, mirth would flee, 

And all the hue and sparkle from the wine; 

And sweetest lutes and shawms were harshest whine, 

If his near voice I heard not. For a year 

We were as lovers fathomlessly dear; 

Yet our lives parted, as blown flakes of fire — 

I, for home, Abilene; he, for Tyre. 

Before Jerusalem our parting was ; 

On Mount of Olives. "O Lysanias ! 

See how," he said, "o'er teil and sycamine, 

These glistening tears of morning bead and shine — 

Sweet sorrowing! for sight of kindred hearts 

Faring from each for dim and lonely parts. 

165 



These tender grasses, this ripe-headed grain, 
Are swayed, not by the wind, but by our pain, 
That they so droop in dearest sympathy. 
The birds forbear their wonted melody, 
And stealthily, from dewy bush to bush, 
Redstart and starling and the joyous thrush 
Move silenter than golden crisped leaves, 
Light wavering through flush of autumn eves. 
Now ere I turn for Joppa and the sea, 
And you to wend through fruitful Galilee, 
One brief hour from the day tyrannical 
We'll steal for balm 'gainst dreary hours of gall 
That soon may follow. Speak, Lysanias ! 
Swifter than eagles the swift moments pass." 

So down we sat beneath those olive boughs, 

And breathed anew our friendship ; and the vows 

Clasped in the circlet of a glowing year 

Loosened, and found that they had grown more clear 

In eloquence, more steadfast in fair truth ; 

So that to each fell memories more sooth 

Than Fancy's dreaming, and we voiced them all. 

Ah, even now, Narcirus, I recall, 

Beyond the scattered years, what then we said — 

How we discussed, but briefly, scrolls late read 

Under wise Gamaliel's care and charge; 

How that our leaping minds, though given at large 

Lush Jewish pastures, still afield would range 

Where gleamed new rills through grasses moist and 

strange ; 
How to the shores Hellenic, warm, divine, 

1 66 



With echoes of Apollo and the nine 

Sweet sisters, and voice no less warm, divine, 

And sweet than any of the heavenly Nine, — 

Sappho's, came we o'er the immortal seas 

Of thought ; how into cool philosophies 

We'd plunged with all youth's ardor and rash zest, 

To straight belie those truths we loved the best ; 

And of free days, and of excursions made 

By moonlight to one wild familiar glade, 

We talked, reconjuring again lost dreams 

Dreamt idly on the lazy lakes and streams. 

So dropt that hour in Time's too-eager glass. 

And then we severed ; then our lives did pass 
Singly and far apart ; and from that day 
To this hath each kept to his separate way. 

Mine through Samaria led ; and that same night 
I lay at Shiloh. Never gleamed more bright 
The summer stars, never more gently crept 
The cradling breeze to soothe me while I slept 
Than on that housetop in the placid town ; 
And never tenderer moon or lovelier looked down 
From heaven than that proud Dian of the skies 
That woke me with soft touch on brow and eyes 
At midnight. From that serene hour, till dawn 
Dispelled the witchery, I lay as one 
Crowned an anointed king of golden lands, 
Sea-girt, mid music ; and a fleece of hands 
Invisible, but sensitive of all 

That soothes, caressed me with light rise and fall ; 
And from the heavy sense all grossness rolled. 

i6 7 



Twas while I reigned in that pale land of gold, 
Monarch of thronging fancies, that there stole 
Across the court of dream where ruled my soul 
That sweep of lustrous eyes, the radiance 
And swift fire-essence of magnetic glance, — 
The star, the lodestar, that would ever shine 
Above my firmament, this life of mine, 
And guide me goldenly with steadfast rays 
Through lands of dusk and utmost devious ways. 
Sufficiency of splendor and of light ! 
It peered aslant from veilings of the night, 
And down the intricate dreamways had gone 
Ere died that gleam that in the coming shone. 
And lo ! no sooner had I found new birth 
In that new dawn than came the dawn of earth 
Most jealously upstealing, — coarse, profane, — 
And frail enchantments of the night were slain. 

My man, good Habeeb, shouted from the court, — 
Part duteous, but most in voice of sport 
That I should wish to be aroused so soon, 
Whose usual hour, alack! too oft was noon. 
But I was eager to be on the way 
And to gain iEnon ere the death of day; 
So, having eaten some rough cakes of meal, 
Our mules we mounted and set off with zeal. 

But nothing by that roadside could I find 

To waken from sweet trance my dreaming mind. 

No bird with song could waken — not ev'n he, 

The rarest voice of Jordan's minstrelry; 

Nor any field of flowers or fair wheat 

1 68 



Could lure my inward eyes from vision sweet. 

No; to tell truth, I would not have forsaken 

That light enchantment could my soul have taken 

Wings magical for loftiest pinnacles, 

To view all earthly charms, all heavenly spells. 

As, sudden, o'er my heart there fell an awe, 

And in my brain blazed a mysterious law 

I ne'er had read before, I mused away 

The long and sultry stages of the day 

Until midafternoon, when a sharp cry 

From Habeeb roused me. 

Tumultuously, 
Down the white road, between the whitened fields,— 
Now harvest-ripe, prophetic of rich yields 
For sowers patient, — came a huddled throng 
Of villagers; and we were borne along, 
Ev'n in the heart and bosom of that crowd. 

To some I spoke, — ''Friends, may I be allowed 
To raise a voice, protesting; I protest 
Against this burly and officious zest 
In backwarding my steed. — O, he hath teeth 
Which sometimes leap beyond their hairy sheath 
With piercing frankness, and his heels are fire 
To those who stir the embers of his ire." 

Quick answered one, — "Stranger, if you but knew 
The source and secret of this odd ado, 
You would not marvel at our trespass wild, 
But marvel rather that we seemed so mild. 
For know that in the hollow, 'twixt yon hills 

169 



Of terraced vineyards, there are coolest rills 
Of water and cool groves, and there but late 
We heard such words as even now vibrate 
In alert senses ; there but now we parted 
With one of all mankind the purest hearted 
And of all souls divinest, even Christ, 
The sent Messias." Thus another, — "Spiced 
Were the tame sodden musings of our minds, 
At his first utterance, with truth. As winds 
Fanning a gale blow masking sands away 
From desert pitfalls and the depths betray 
To eyes half-blinded, so his clear words swept 
Away the flattering sophistries that slept 
Over our hearts and showed us as we were." 
Spoke then a woman, — "Weary traveler, 
Press ye no farther through the dust and heat, 
But turn with us to Sychem. There i' the sweet 
And cool of evening you will hear retold 
To populous courts those blessed words of gold, 
And of the manner of this man divine 
Will hear, and of like wonders. I and mine 
Know him Messias surely. At the well 
Sacred to Jacob, firm-thewed Israel, 
We met by hap ; and truly, when he spoke 
With voice strong in its gentleness, awoke 
Within my breast a new and cleansing glow, 
Which still I feel and may forever know. 
To him the days that I had lived and spent, 
Fair deeds and foul, — ay, thoughts, the closest pent, 
And sad and secret phantoms of the brain, 
Were as wide daylight vistas, open, plain. 
Is not this then the Christ ?" 

170 



O, how I write, 
Narcirus ! how I stray in random flight, 
Forgetting your good patience and forgetting 
Coherency and all in this long setting 
Of wordy detail ; tortuous as the flow 
Of Jordan — not as swift. Though you would know 
Few facts, and most are answered, still the stream, 
Once wakened from the dark to air and gleam, 
Must flow at will. But I shall try, dear friend 
And nephew, to glide smoothly to the end. 
What though at times I make a curve or two, 
As any stream of ample sweep may do, 
And bear thee, shouldst thou follow with my tide, 
Through cavern darkness and where jungles hide 
With cane, with willow, w T ith dense tamarisk, 
The pastoral world and Phoebus' garish disk, — 
We'll soon emerge and woo the calmer scene, 
And hold with steadier will our course serene. 

So, then, mid those mad folk, to Sychem I 

Straight turned, and gladly ; for the town was nigh, 

And I could see its fair-appearing towers, 

From the hill's rise, and the deep green of bowers 

And orchard trees that cooled the long white walls. 

And when, ere dusk, through pleasant courts and halls 

And colonnaded avenues, I walked 

Where busy clusters buzzed, or stood where talked 

Some ancient red-turbaned Samaritan, 

Winding his hearers in a meshing plan 

Of doctrinal discourse, — when, as I say, 

The stir and bustle of each public way 

I felt ; there seeing life, so free, so warm, 

171 



Light whimmed for various play with face and form - 

I found it in my wish to bide a while 

In that keen place, and there, mayhap, beguile 

A week or so with novelty and change, 

With custom, and with entertainment strange : 

More specially, being received of them — 

Though garbed as Jew and from Jerusalem — 

With honor and w r ide hospitality. 

Oft have I sailed across the shiftful Sea 

Of Dream, and, sailing so, it oft hath seemed 

That all my feverish days had been but dreamed ; 

That only now my life, true-poised and sure, 

Beat rightly the right course, through mists obscure 

And heavy-battling titan-hearted waves. 

O, I had lived a thousand lives, whose graves 

Closed far behind me ! and with buoyant sweep 

I cleft each heave of that untrammeled deep. 

Ah, truly, what the sages say is true — 

That every soul is dual. For I knew, 

When sleep came o'er me on that selfsame night, 

Again the freedom of such dreamy flight, 

And picked the threads of dream-existence up. 

New life was poured from infinitesimal cup. 

I woke. The moon curved high ; the plants were wet 

With dew. I loitered near the parapet, 

And mused upon the strange and midnight scene, 

With mind yet half-adream. So lulled and clean 

I felt, it was as though my spendthrift life 

Had been cut from me and the very knife, 

Clear of the deed, placed in my passive hand 

172 



For token that my will could hence command 

What road, what soil, it would ; could shape anew 

Fair-spreading paths of beauty, or could hew 

Darkly through pleaching briars some wilful way, 

Yes, even as this town of Sychem lay 

Between the valleys draining east and west 

To Jordan and the blue Great Sea — the crest, 

The jewel crown and mitre of the land — 

So stood I, with my life on either hand 

Palely outspread : all the dim days were there, 

Past and to come, mist-hidden, — there, ev'n where 

Freed Israel marched with Joshua the bold 

In that oft-sung tempestuous time of old, 

They moved in faint review. Though no Levites 

Now hurled their threats or blessings from those heights, 

Ebal and Garizim, and all seemed still, 

Came there not mystic breathings from each hill, 

"Where, like couched mammoths, in the quietude 

Of night they lay — shaggy with rock and wood? 

At least I thought so ; but the thoughts, scarce worn, 
Vanished with swiftness. From the street, upborne 
Sweetly unto mine ears, came cadencies, 
Which rose and fell like the surf voice of seas, 
Singing, for Summer, some mock-wrathful song, 
Wherein stern chords are weak, the weak ones strong ; 
And presently adown that thoroughfare 
Came the strange music and a dazzling flare 
Of torches and swung lamps. At the first thought 
I deemed them marriage feasters that now sought 
Their scattered dwellings, but a closer ear 
Proclaimed them revelers of careless cheer, 

173 



Emboldened to the core by glow of wine ; 
For thus they sang: — 

"And o'er that joyance shine 

No sun, no sun ; 
Apollo's too benign — 
He spies on everyone : 
But we, Bacche ! 
But we, but we, 
Swinging the thyrsus, are free, free, free; 
Free in the night, 
Free in delight, 
Free! 
Bacche ! Bacche ! Bacche ! 

"Again fill cups with wine — 

Have care, have care ! 
Each drop's a key divine 
Will open regions rare : 
A key, Bacche ! 
To free, to free ! 
Even as the gods be, so be we— 
Free of the earth, 
Free in our mirth, 
Free! 
Bacche ! Bacche ! Bacche ! . . . 
Evoe! Evoe!" 

Through the pale moonshine, clear almost as day, 
They came ere that last chorus died away : 
Fantastically came they, wreathed and bound 
In drooping flower-chains and with ivy crowned, 

174 



Throwing their torches from mad hand to hand 

And dancing, like lithe wraiths from shadowland — 

A mingled rout of maidens and young men, 

In number, haply, some two score and ten. 

And so, with dance and song, they had passed by 

And vanished, but for one keen roving eye 

Chancing upon me in that space of shade 

That clustered roof-plants in the moonlight made. 

Soon all that band of high and prankish blood 

Held their flambeaux aloft and silent stood, 

Upgazing at me from the narrow street. 

How near they were ! My face flushed with their heat, 

And through my veins the ruddy current flowed 

Impetuous, and radiantly glowed 

My heart, as though, like them, I had drunk fire 

From the grape's heart and did as bold aspire. 

For I could feel, it seemed, their breath ; could see 

Each curve that rose and fell voluptuously 

Beneath light robes of rarest Tyrian 

And many a jewel gleaming, and could scan 

Each face with clearness — its subtilities, 

The loose-blown hair, the wide audacious eyes. 

A breathless silence. Then a murmur ran 
From lip to lip, and presently began 
More revelry. To the weird music's beat 
Again they danced, and did again repeat: 

"Even as the gods be, so be we — 
Free of the earth, 
Free in our mirth, 
Free! 
Bacche! Bacche! Bacche!" 
175 



Then came much laughter, as a rain of flowers 

Swept over me in well-directed showers ; 

And one bright garland round my waist did twine, 

A moment clinging- in coil serpentine, 

At which rose joyous clamor and wild shout. 

Debating with my heart, I watched the rout, 

Nor moved ; debating if I should not keep 

These pale calm hours for unprofaned sleep — 

Not tarnish them for privilege to be 

The maddest soul of that mad company : 

For knew I well my soul's capacities. 

Was this not better : — So, apart, to please 

The sense with contemplation of the scene, 

But mingle not in act? to hold between 

This riotous life and my desires the web 

Of fantasy, and view the flow and ebb 

Of whirlwind pleasures through its shielding folds 

With eyes still safe? — serene as he who holds 

Watch with astrologers on some gray hill, 

To glean the starry fields for good or ill. 

And, reasoning thus, those revelers appeared, 

Indeed, as habitants removed, — insphered 

On strangest world of all the strange far space. 

A gleam of eyes, a regal head, a face 

Pale in the torch-flare, curved uplifted arms, 

In sinuous arch, that spanned a bosom's charms 

And dusked with shadow, and a voice that won 

Precedence above sounds of lavish tone, 

Which wafted, "Come;" — this in a breath o'erthrew 

Proud toils of thought, — this in a moment drew 

176 



My escaped soul to the established land, — 
This in an instant linked me to their band. 

The brief stone steps that wound unto the street 

Knew but the flying pressure of my feet, 

And I had joined them : gladly was received 

My slight addition, gladly torched and wreathed, 

And garlanded with mock solemnity. 

Then an arch mouth that hovered close to me 

Whispered : "Thou worshiper of fair late skies. 

So dropt amongst us ; by the sparkling eyes 

Of Venus, thou art now right welcome here, 

With such fresh cheeks and face of happy cheer. 

But I shall lead thee swiftly to our queen; 

For think ye not, for all our frolic scene, 

Our minds own no restraint : think not because 

Our court is lawless that it has no law r s, 

And that we live in utter dalliance." 

Was I a dreamer whom the guides of chance 
Led dreamily through sleep's unfooted lands, 
To learn those secrets of the printless sands 
That may be shown ? Some led me, and I went 
Tamely with them amid new revelment, 
Until again that fairest face I found : 
Then the trance-chains were broken; I was bound 
No more to sheer subjection; gently sprung 
Thoughts to my mind and language to my tongue. 
"O Queen, — I know you are, — of this blithe throng, 
You see, I come — I, that light dance and song, 
And all enchantments save one lifted hand 
And one sweet breathed word could well withstand, 

177 
12 



Bow thus before thee : take Lysanias, 

And from the crude and so unseemly mass 

Shape such proportions as thou deemest fair 

To live within thine eye-sweep — captive there. 

Did not proud Hercules, his strength in lull, 

Spin for the Lydian queen the servile wool, 

And work her will, obedient ? Compare not me, 

O Queen, with that great hero-deity — 

But thou, how fairer than that Lydian queen !" 

"What words !" she said, "what gossamer words ! what 

sheen 
Of moondrift language ! O, such flatteries 
Fall soothless on the ears that they would please. 
But you are welcome to our revels, you 
May tread with us the windings we pursue 
So carelessly — O, see your heart be light ! — 
And I that am the queen for this one night 
Shall consort, through perplexing mysteries, 
Even yourself. Arise! Now, Lois, ease 
The trumpet's mute impatience." 

This was said, 
This last, to my arch friend, who tossed her head, 
Jingling bright golden coins that held the hair 
Back from her brow, and then, with eager care, 
Blew a shrill note peculiar, which wound among 
The tumult voices, chaining each free tongue, 
Until a thralling silence ruled complete. 
Soon we were surging down the shadowy street. 

Gaining the gates, a glittering bribe of gold 
Released us shortly from the city's fold; 
Then all the freedom of that moonlit vale, 

178 



As fair as an}- feigned in poet's tale, 

Was ours for roaming- — all the trees, the flowers, 

The shrubby hillocks, all, all, all, were ours. 

O, the rich night — how prodigal it was ! 

How far beyond the sordid day's its laws ! 

Now every blossom delicately slight 

Might loose, for its sweet peace and heart's delight, 

Those odors that in drowsy hours of heat 

Could grow no dainty wings wherewith to beat 

Impalpable through the impaling air. 

Xow the fair skies of heaven were more than fair, 

So bound with shadow — do not shadows give 

The setting wherein joys and glories live, 

Starlike ? And now each sound, each random tone, 

Each careless cadence to the breezes thrown, 

Caressed as music of a keen-strung harp. 

Clear in that fertile vale, upjutting sharp, 

Stood certain tumbled ridges of white rock, 

Or bluish-gray, such as rude ancient shock 

Had postured strangely; and, this night, these same 

Appeared as muscles of some giant frame, 

Stretched prone and low upon a vanquished field 

Among the ruins of his spear and shield. 

Soon treading lightly up one rugged slope, 

I saw where 'neath the crags a door was ope— 

Dark, and rough-hew r n. Through this rock door we 

passed 
Singly, and gained a cavern dim and vast. 

A hundred cubits were the walls apart, 

At least conjecture. Now, within the heart 

179 



Of that wide chamber swelled two mighty trees, 

Which arched above our heads their canopies 

Of verdure, and roof other none there was. 

Depositing my torch, the while a buzz 

Stirred lazily the languors of that room, 

I peered about through half-relieved gloom. 

The cleft brown walls and yellow ledges knew 

Frail flowering presences, and, higher, grew 

Wild honeysuckles, striving to be free, 

Scaling the topmost stones for liberty. 

Bright birds down fluttered through the doming green, 

By sudden flame distracted ; there the clean 

Sleek-collared turtle flew, and orioles 

Golden I saw, and gorgeous-plumaged fowls. 

At whiles a star was seen, but peeped no moon. 

With branches light and leaves of sweet lemon 

The floor was littered, and on that strewn floor 

Lay spread a feast, delicious to its core. 

There swelling bowls of kibby stood, asteam, 

Dishes of lebbeny and clotted cream, 

Fishes and rice and thinnest wafer-bread ; 

And various fruits in season there were spread 

In color heaps and fragrant pyramids ; 

And for such jaded palate as forbids 

Free relish and insatiable delight 

Clay-balls from rich Damascus could invite 

A novel tasting: also, crisp roasted peas, 

Sweetmeats, pistachio. But o'ertowering these 

In all affections, as themselves o'ertowered 

With graceful bulk all dainties that endowered 

The feast, gleaming, were jars of wondrous wine. 

1 80 



Thus faring rich, did each at ease recline 
And let luxurious hours unnoted fly, 
Till pleasures furled their wings most languidly, 
And songs grew careless of the measured chime 
Of music, breaking from the bonds of time. 
By this had dancers danced us many dances, 
With easy liquid gestures and bright glances, 
And tales and following laughter had been heard. 
And merriment pressed from each jesting word. 
Now soon the rosied cup ceased to inspire, 
And hands fell listlessly from lute and lyre, 
And stole a soothing silence through the place. 

Long had I gazed on that surpassing face 
That breathed close by me down the mirthful hours- 
A peerless flower, among expanding flowers 
Torn from far-scattered gardens of the world ; 
But when our voicings daintily were curled 
Within some crevasse of those walls around, — 
As in a sea-cave sleeps the ocean's sound, — 
Again, I gazed on that surpassing face, 
Gleaning anew for beauty and for grace. 

No stain of henna or rare foreign dyes 
Profaned the cheeks or shaded the clear eyes — 
Soft-shining lights of dark, caressing brown! 
Xor ornament she bore, saving a crown 
Of snowy pearls ; but, gold-brow r n, the hair 
Gleamed free, — loose dancing, or embosomed fair 
As goddess's of Homer's deathless story. 
O, her whole aspect was a whelming glory, 
Whereon the sense might feed, insatiate, 

181 



Till the last folding of its earthly fate. 
Those full red lips that swelled to meet Love's kiss 
Might give more love than they could take of his ; 
Those arms might bend the radiant archer's bow 
And send darts swifter than his skill could show; 
Those eyes beholden once, the blindfold god 
Would ne'er again in willing gloom abroad, 
But treasure every beam of sun and moon. 

I said : "There is a vale of Lebanon, 

Ev'n in those highlands where your Jordan wakes 

To being and his first light murmur makes, 

Called 'Meadow of Clear Fountains/ In this place 

My father reared a villa, which might grace 

With dignity Italians proudest slope. 

That now is mine, and if my soaring hope 

May reach a sweet fulfillment, that is yours ; 

Together with such passion as endures 

In a new heart, new-lifted and redeemed 

From cheerless stagnancy. O, once I dreamed,— 

Why, 'twas last night at Shiloh ! these your eyes, 

Now bending on me with such dear surmise, 

Lit then with starry splendor all my sky 

Of vision : was it not fatality ?" 

Laughing, she said: "Of course, of course it was; 
What else but fate, thou crude Lysanias : 
Would not life's fardels press with deadly weight, 
If we could shift them not on that same Fate? 
Fate, then, be thou my god — a god as good 
As any formed from metal, stone, or wood, 
And prayed at daily by tossed argosies 

182 



For homeward winds and fair auspicious seas ; 

Fate, so thou doest all that I require; 

Fate, so thou givest all that I desire, 

And pamper every whim of day and night, — 

So long, O Fate, HI be thy proselyte! 

But if my flattered ears have gained the truth 

Of thy so fervent words, my goodly youth, 

You would enstar me ? mong the mountains blue, 

As mistress to thy home and like to you. 

The crags of Lebanon! their majesty 

I've known through summer azures ; I could be 

Happy among them for — how long ! — a week ? 

Xo, no, Lysanias, I would not seek 

To tarnish with my utter variant ways 

The promise and the beauty of thy days. 

That bird that dips along the sprayful sea 

Must bear no bolder heart nor sing more free 

Than Mary Magdala. Therefore, to-night 

Live as we may, the morrow's wakening light 

Will beckon sunward to Gennesareth." 

"And there," I cried, "go I; and O, let death 

Alone gainsay — not thou !" 

She gazed at me 
A space with musing eyes ; then, tenderly, — 
'There grows in Persis, as you will no doubt 
Recall, (for so its fame hath blown about 
The world), a tree that in the glaring hours 
Shows blighted, withered, all bereft of flowers, 
While fading blossom-dust, as white as snow, 
Sheets thick and negligent the ground below. 
Now, when the star Hesperian lights on high 



The flocks of heaven to pastures of the sky, 

With silent throe, from whispering groves apart, 

That tree of sorrow yieldeth up her heart ; 

And, on the passing of the midmost hour 

Of night, it spreads like one celestial flower 

Of fadeless being, of immortal breath : 

Yet, on the touch of day, it withereth. 

My life, Lysanias, is like that tree. 

Comes there at times some blighting phantasy 

Across my mind, and thoughts of shrouding gray 

Cloud to a semidarkness that my day. 

Could laughter clear the gloom, O, I could jest 

And fright afar the devils of unrest ; 

But 'twill not : only, only can the peace 

Of kindest-catering night bring swift surcease. 

Ah, then there gleams no opulence of heaven, 

But that my chariot-soul might there be driven — 

Light-drawn by lightest thoughts of winged desire; 

O, then there thrills no ecstasy, no fire 

Of passion, no fine winding of delight 

That is not found me by the catering night. 

Come, I shall sing for thee, Lysanias; 

Cannot this dwindled night, eager to pass, 

Be stayed a while with music? See, they lie 

All snug adream, our gallant company ! 

Two hearts alone the sluggish charm disdain; 

Two hearts yet live, — the rest by sleep are slain. 

Look ! there the lovely Mirta veils her eyes — 

O, lovelier now than in her coquetries ! 

See how my frolic Lois yet will smile : 

Though held to drowsiest bounds, she'd romp the while. 

And what a bunch of beauty have we here — 

184 



Bulkes, Hada, Cypros; and, drowsing near 
The bold Greek, Scander, see where Miriam lies : 
He is a god of gold in those young eyes. 
Careful, I'll steal her idle dulcimer, 
And sing for thee." 

On which, with motion subtiler 
Than the lithe Libyan panther's, sleightful, she 
The instrument from twining arms did free, 
And played it soft and low with surest skill; 
Fitting unto its voice her voice's will, 
Which was at first most gentle. Cool and clear 
As morning is in springflush of our year — 
That frailest spring, dying almost at birth, 
Yet making for brief time a heaven of earth — 
Was the cool-throbbing music ; and the tones 
Inwove with it were cool and gracious ones. 
My thoughts were strangely led by those sweet guides. 
With them I clambered, swift and free, the sides 
Of grassy hillocks ; and where meads were bred 
To complete beauty, there my sense was fed. 
A child for glee, again I knew the hours 
By the slight curlings of the petaled flowers, 
And let my fancy nestle down again 
In soft and fragrant blooms of hill and glen. 
A thousand glowing growths held charms to please — 
Globe hyacinths, the frail anemones, 
Daisies and marigolds and daffodils, 
The nodding cyclamen, blue iris, squills, 
Sweet anise, basil of the fields, the clove 
Gilliflower, for bees a treasure trove, 
Pink phlox, dame's violet, asters of white, 

185 



The flaming tulip, lilies chaste as light 

At sunrise is and queenly 'bove compare, 

And the wide sisterhood of roses fair, 

And lupins tall, and arums, and wild thyme, 

St. John's-wort, with its golden flowers in prime, 

The stately narcissus ; — these but a few 

Of those the thousand growths that glowed anew 

For me that instant. Sang no mounting bird 

Across my spring of life that was not heard 

Singing and mounting with the music sweet, 

Voiced magical, its wings of tireless beat. 

The broad sloped threshing floors again lay spread 

Before me, and new grain was winnowed 

By careful husbandmen, — that while I sat 

Propt careless on the meadow's yellowing mat, 

And, so, watched lazily their movements brisk ; 

Or, with glad playfellows, in romp and frisk, 

Centered the far-blown chaff, being a child 

Once more — free-chartered, privileged, and wild. 

But as the clarity and sweep of art 

Caught glow of passion from the singer's heart, 

Lo, every note became a note of fire 

Upwhirled on wings of light to its desire, 

And every simple word and pale became 

Complex, fantastic, roseate with flame, 

And now that crystal coolness fell away. 

Behold, what mist had lifted ! Life could ray, 

Free and intense and radiant, around ; 

And the white fancies of my heart were crowned 

With answering flame and glowed as radiantly. 

So was I borne, so passionate, so free, 

Along the sounding waves tempestuous ! 

1 86 



No burly banqueter, from Neptune's rouse, 
Parting the waters of the reeling sea, 
Might sweep more passionate, exalt, and free ! 
O, the whole essence of whole life outpoured, 
Sudden and fierce, with each true-sounded chord 
Of music ; and the ecstasies and fears, 
The hopes, the sorrowings of passion-years, 
Blown by sharp flame of life's omnipotence, 
Beat as irradiant rain across the sense,— 
Ay, as a sleet of fire did sweep the soul. . . . 
A quavering, and silence . . . On me stole 
A strain like dripping nectars ; and that strain 
Became the chosen links for slumber's chain. 



Throughout the Jewish land, Xarcirus, there 

Is not a view more gloriously fair 

Than from Mt. Tabor, when the evening hushes 

The profane notes of day and soft the blushes 

Of heaven fall golden on the vales and hills. 

A scene of serene grandeur 'tis ; it fills 

The heart alike with wonder and with peace, 

And with most delicate subtilities 

Of thought makes musical the chimeless brain : 

Almost, it frees the soul of gyve and chain ; 

So that, beyond the narrow scope of flesh, 

Beyond the sin, the darkness, and the mesh 

Of low-restraining, sorrowful desires, 

The spirit might be clothed in sunset fires, 

And catch some wine of glory as it spills 

Richly among those hosts of rounded hills 

And down that fertile plain, Esdraelon. 

187 



Then from the snowy giants might be won 
A tempering coolness. Hermon, best of these, 
Though veiled so close in spotless draperies, 
Would give fair greeting; and each peak would bow 
To heap the chalice-cup with gift of snow. 

But dearer than the mountains, or the plains 
And valleys fruitful, which the trees and grains, 
The flowers and grasses pattern variously 
With hues of light and shade, — there, one may see 
The Galilean lake — how beautiful ! 

Narcirus, for a month that lake did lull 
My life; I was its votary; the swell 
Of those blue waters as desirable 
Became to me as date-groves to the eyes 
Of caravan beneath wide blazing skies. 
For came Love's voice through every lightest purl, 
Love's eyes peered out from every azure curl; 
And still, in calm or storm, Love's breath was known 
To make all airs divine with monotone 
Divinest of all tones that may be sung. 
A month, Narcirus, gleaming white among 
The glooms and darknesses of herded years, 
Like diamond's gleam or gleam of happy tears. 
Spelled hours we sailed, my queen and I, — my queen ! — 
Along those limpid waters' molten sheen, 
Lustrous and glittering with the fervent sun ; 
And endless, shifting glories were unspun 
From sea, from plain, from cloud, from craggy crest, — 
Ay, from all things whereon dream-eyes might rest. 
Was there a hint of beauty, palely given ? — 
Straightway our fancies built a radiant heaven. 

188 



Was there a sound in nature, faintly blown? — 

Ravished no harper ears with fuller tone 

Than swept to us over the silver seas. 

Was there a wind of velvet that might please, 

And odorous? — Nor frankincense nor myrrh 

Could stir with more of sweet a peaceful air. 

So sailed we hours, abandoned to such ease 

As dreams may give, 'neath fluttering canopies 

Of purple; and our galley kissed the waves 

At amorous will, and they became our slaves. 

So, too, our slaves the flowers, the trees ; each palm, 

Lotus and oleander held a balm 

For us : the potency of separate charm 

Could soothe the mind, as softest-circling arm 

The body soothes, when arms are tenderest, 

And lull indefinite unrest to rest. 

Even the thistles and the leafless thorn 

Were kind to us as any flower born. 

The birds, of others free, were slaves to us. 

And when we ranged the cities populous, 

The fortress towns, the clustered villages, 

What pleased there of delights and luxuries 

That were not ours ? 

One day, on sea of glass, 
Our boatmen oared from royal Tiberias ; 
Prow to the north, where smiled Capernaum ; 
Sails drooping idly, for no wind would come. 
The airs were languid, even as my thought, 
And on my dreaming the brisk world was wrought 
Quiet, a picture — for the distant stir 
Of fleet, of herds, of clouds, the quieter. 
One sweet light voice could rouse, alone had power ; 

189 



Soon spake the sharer of that tranquil hour, — 

"Behold, how beautiful Gennesaret 

To-day, and my Magdala, see, how set 

Like a white jewel mid the clasping green. 

Dear, you have fed your eyes on richness, seen 

In far soft lands an ampler majesty 

Of plain, vast-spreading, citied regally ; 

But now, for my heart-comfort, let your eyes 

Be as eyes wakened to a paradise, — 

So virgin-new that they would pasture there 

Oblivious, nor dream of aught more fair 

Than this, my native plain. Lysanias ! 

O, say its living beauty doth surpass 

The dead pale lands of withered memory — 

Then will its living beauty live in thee ! 

Here first I drew my breath of innocence ; 

And the surrounding hills, and the intense 

Sky, and the blue lake, and the happy vales 

Companioned me through girlhood ; and the tales 

They whispered me were memorable and sweet, — 

So that, despite of time, they linger yet. 

There, where the watchtower looms, I once — but look ! 

Look how the boats flock shoreward ; see, each nook 

Of beach and quay alive with multitude 

Of swaying people,— gestural, endued, 

So seems it, with the ardor of one thought. 

Join we? What think you? O, my heart hath caught, 

Ev'n here, the fervor of their surging zeal, 

And it would mix with all they say arid feel." 

Lightly our boat veered to the peopled shore ; 
And the dividing blue dwindled before 

190 



The long, free, even strokes of tireless oars, 

And we had landed on that curst of shores. 

"Curst" did I write ; and yet I hardly know 

Whether 'twere better I should leave it so, 

Or else write "blest." For truly who can say 

Whether Elysium or Hades lay 

Within the compass of a centered act 

Which lies so deep in years ; which time hath racked 

Into a thousand forms intangible, 

Taking at whim the glints of heaven or hell. 

For though I lost the soul of my desire, 

And fair Love's ardent heart of whelming fire, 

What I did gain I set so far above 

The flame and fire and ardency of love, 

That, like as gold, it shows amid the dross 

Of life: it fills all measure of all loss. 

O, 'tis the soul of love — beyond the heat 

Of love, how cool and delicate and sweet 

In memory ! Yea, in my soul it lives, 

This soul of love, and, there, assurance gives. 

"The Nazarene, the Christ ; he speaks to us" — 
vSo answered prompt a scrivener. Emulous 
Of the enfolding crowd that held us fast, 
Along the chosen plain we moved ; at last 
Sighting a mound, luxuriant of green, 
On the sloped side of which a man was seen 
O'erlooking all ; and by sheer dint of will 
We gained a place of hearing near the hill. 

He was of noble stature, this same Christ, 
And well-proportioned; and his face enticed 

191 



All eyes, — for beautiful it was and kind, 

Yet with regality and power behind 

The infinite grace, the quiet tenderness ; 

And if by one rude word I would express 

His look, but one, that word were "sympathy." 

His tones they filled the very soul of me 

With wonder : so simple and so profound — 

The music and the poetry of sound 

Garbing the naked thought, but showing 'neath 

Lit eloquence the truths of life and death. 

The words were plain to hear as no or yes. 

White purity of thought, unselfishness 

And utter abnegation was the theme ; 

And how r the treasures of the earth that seem 

So rich for grasping were but poor indeed, 

When God's great love the fowls of air did feed 

And clothed the languid lilies of the field 

In more than kingly pride ; how that revealed 

Were all men's souls unto the Father's eye ; 

Nor could the veil of thick hypocrisy 

Suffice to hide, but all men should be known 

By their proclaiming fruits and justly shown. 

"Judge not," he said, "that ye may not be judged. 

View not the motes some wind of chance hath lodged 

Within thy brother's eye and fail of light 

To know what beams obscure thine own frail sight. 

Throw not thy holiest bread to dogs, nor cast 

Your pearls before the swine, lest they at last 

Trample them under foot and rend the giver; 

Yet ever what ye would have men deliver 

To you, in word or act, give ye to men." 

192 



More in such strain be spoke — high words! — and then 
Descended to the plain. The multitude 
Pressed round, but brushed him not; they were sub- 
dued 
To inexplicable and nameless awe. 
Then glancing sidelong, my love's face I saw, 
And marveled at the change I saw thereon, 
And at the light that from her eyes outshone 
Like veiled fire ; for the rose cheeks were wet 
With tears and the lithe lips as firmly set 
As gates that hold at bay a mounting flood. 
I said no word, but silent, waiting, stood. 

Slowly towards us came this Christ, the crowd 

Giving him way. The waning sun was proud 

To shine above him. On the hair, like wine 

In color, golden-rooted, long and fine, 

On the cheeks' tempered bloom, the forehead's white, 

And in the eyes of blue and brilliant light 

There was full majesty of poise and glow. 

And as he walked, with glancing look, and slow, 

Behold a leper, muffled close around, 

Pressed into view and sank upon the ground 

Before him, saying, — "Master, shouldst thou deign 

To notice me, then were I clean again." 

And straight the Christ put forth his hand, and said : 

"I will; now be thou clean." The ghastly head 

He touched with gentle fingers. Lo, the man rose 

Clean, with his eyes clear-shining and the throes 

Of new blood working in each pallid cheek, 

And with light step his home and friends did seek. 

On this same moment Mary Magdalene 

13 193 



Stole from my side, ere I could intervene 

My strength and protestation, and she fell 

Ev'n in that place where late the miracle 

Was wrought ; her gold head drooping to the grass 

Like a drooped flower — so faint and fair it was ! 

And as a flower revives when moist winds stir, 

So that head lifted when Christ spoke to her 

Softly a word or two. I could not glean 

The syllables, but what my Magdalene 

Returned to him ran something like to this, — 

"Nay, I am all unworthy. Not that kiss 

Of pure pale airs that fan the peaks of white 

At holiest sessions of the soft moonlight, 

Nor that lone purity of air-borne cloud 

Athwart the burning noon, nor any proud 

Mysterious signal of the failing sun 

Could breathe into my soul, as thou hast done, 

Sweet instant messages of stainless peace, 

Such balm and comfort for the torn heart's ease. 

This leper that thy mercy didst recall 

From worse than folding tomb and deathly pall 

To a clean life, was he not hideous 

And shunned of all? so gross, — O, so leprous ! 

Yet was his outward seeming fair indeed 

Beside this soul inmost, which thou didst read 

With pitying and all-perceptive glance 

That soothed divinely. Now, while radiance 

Of new-beholden glory doth invite 

New thoughts, I thank thee, Master, for the light 

So comforting. — O, yet it will be blown 

Away ! and then ? — O, I shall be as one 

Thirsting for water and beholding how 

194 



It cools near grasses may not cool the brow 
And perishes ; and so shall I succumb." 
Then Christ : 'To-morrow, at Capernaum, 
Find ye the water." And thereon he passed, 
With a kind look and gesture. 

Through the massed 
And pressing throngs I forced an arduous way 
For the late suppliant, nor did delay 
Our passage till the seacoast had been gained 
And that stone quay whereto our boat was chained. 
The arm that clung to mine was white and moist 
And all a-tremble, but my heart rejoiced 
To see the lights of reason in those eyes 
Dwelling, and hear the voiced pleasantries 
Again, and know the cadence of her tongue ; 
For through some musing interval she sung 
Gently a song in modest undertone. 
Along the quay we walked, and quite alone. 
Bound in the gold of evening arched the sky, 
Hushed as the air around us ; harmony 
Lay double on the waters ; not a wave 
Might more than hint its heart and, timid, lave 
The sands of sympathy. I could but feel 
That on this fallen day was set some seal 
Of high approval : yet I could watch it die 
"With anxious mind and vague and brooding eye. 

And soon I spoke : 'The wonders of this day 
Are marvelous beyond all speech to say; 
Had not mine eyes vouched truly these same acts, 
Nor tongue fanatical, nor lettered wax, 

195 



Had stirred the credence of a fond belief. 
This Christ that spake so fair and gave relief 
To loathsome leprosy, hath wisdom's power, 
And powers medicinal, and a full dower 
Of magic veiled by low simplicity; 
Yet, though he show of men the prodigy, 
Still is he man." — "No, he's a god, a god, 
Lysanias ; nor such hath ever trod 
Before on earth in regal humbleness, 
To soothe the pained world, to guide, to bless ! 
Doth not each drop within my veins attest 
To his divinity ? For my sweet rest 
What supplicated peace hath from the sky 
Fallen in hour distraught? But now 'tis nigh! 
Soon shall I rest." 

Thus talking in strained mode, 
We came to where our silken galley rode, 
Like a fair sea-swan, on the drowsing sea, 
Manned and complete and eager to be free; 
And, pausing shortly, each on other gazed 
Through a sad silence ; then, abashed and dazed 
By the foreknowledge of a sealed event, 
Which, without word, was made most eloquent 
To both, cast downward glances on the sea. 
There was no light of hope thereon for me. 

She said: "The resolved purpose of my heart 
Hath in thy heart been sounded : there's no art 
Can guise the simple language with wreathed grace, 
Or lend a coloring softness to the face 
Of truth, severe and white ; — so, love, farewell !" 

196 



She moved away. I caught her hand ; I fell 

Before her, speaking, with a tongue of fire, 

What words I know not : in my brain a pyre 

Was kindled — they were the wild blown brands 

That flared and glowed at random on waste sands. 

And when the passion of my voice was spent, 

She said, — "Lysanias, from this intent, 

Which now grows strong within me, none may turn 

My w 7 ill ; nay, not ev'n thou, for whom doth burn 

Still in the tabernacle of my soul 

The rarest incenses of love. Control 

Thy grief; for sure that dearest grief can give, 

Controlled, a strength immortal, power to live 

Dauntless through destined years, and sweetness, too, 

And quiet lights of beauty. Falls no dew 

Like the pure dews of sorrow. May you know 

The touch thereof. I say no more ; I go." 

Her hand I loosed, regrettingly, and then 

Clasped it anew, saying, — "Our thoughts have been 

Ever at even flight; so be they now. 

Yea, my rebellious heart with thine shall bow, 

And rest like thine submissive. Whate'er gods 

There be that rule men from their soft abodes, 

And thwart and scourge, and strangle with the thread 

Of wayward circumstance, to such my head 

And heart I bow — so thou wouldst have it so. 

See how they bend ! — Not yet ! Yea, thou shalt go ; 

But take some gift — O, stay ! — some simple gift 

That will keep memory clear, as far we drift 

Coldly apart — some gift — one gift !" 

197 



She said : 
"Be sure, dear heart, until this heart be dead, 
Thy love shall gleam as vestal's lamp within 
A temple purified and cleansed of sin, 
And that clear flame will keep remembrance clear 
For thee where'er thou art, or far or near. 
Yet will I take of thee one gift — the vase 
Of alabaster, kept for ancient phrase 
Egyptian and the quaint lost mould : 'tis filled, 
Thou know'st, with precious ointments — nard, distilled, 
And of the wounded myrrh, the first rich tears. 
This will I bear with me; and when the years 
Bring to my life some more than mortal hour, 
This then I'll break for consecrating shower." 

Directly, without word, I sprang aboard 

The galley ; and bore soon from scattered hoard 

Of treasure to her down-stretched hand the vase 

Of ointment, gazing mutely on her face 

That was both frail and strong ; and finding there 

Such steadfast light as only eyes can share 

With a resolved heart, I opened not 

My lips to voice the echoes of sad thought 

Vainly, but pressed them to the fingers white 

For momentary touch and last delight. 

Then signaled I to loose the galley free ; 

The poised, obedient oars splashed to the sea. 

"Back to Tiberias," I said ; and feeling 

A new wind of the north upon us stealing, 

I bade that sails be flung to amplest spread. 

The gold of sundown touched the bared gold head, 
Lone on the lessening quay ; and soon the blue 

198 



Form faded. Swiftly we sailed. There was no hue 
Of color in the sky or on the sea. 



Narcirus, in the spring, I look for thee 
To bring thy face of gladness, and thy free 
Bold voice and heart, and all thy happy ways 
To my poor court, to cheer the cheerless place 
As thou wert wont to do in springs we've known. 
Then, in some cloistral night, when there is blown 
To us sweet secrets from the white jasmine, 
And no star gleams but shares its heart therein 
For a bright fellowship with lowliest earth; 
When each true thing doth show- its soul of worth - 
Then, my Narcirus, having heard, I'll tell 
Strange stories marvelous : till then, farewell ! 



199 



Chop Jooy 



{Being a rather incongruous mixture of allegory, fable, 
satire \ metaphysics, and sheer nonsense?} 



201 



LIFE'S MOSAIC 

I was reading Nietzsche. 

On that page 

The weak ones were stroked not ; 

Strength was the god 

Sole to be incensed 

On earth. 

Lo, this thought came to me — 

That priest and that scribe, 

The pale buzzers, the dilettanti, 

All lifted the hands of a palsied impotency 

They'd captioned "Life," 

Which fell back again on their idol, 

When released, 

Clanging base metal inanely. 

And as I read, 

Sounded near the clangors of metals, — 

Hollow and false. 

But soon I looked from the window, 

Saw T the tiniest blades verdant 'neath oak-trees, 

Daintily cowering field-flowers, and unbashful roses, 

A fluttering of butterflies, a far sweep of sea-gulls, 

A mosaic of beautiful weak things and beautiful strong 

things all over the earth : 
So I put aside my philosopher, 
And went out for a walk. 

203 



DREAD 

Fear of the unknown! 

Causes unguessed, unseen, 

Simple causes, 

Even ridiculous causes, — 

Yet of man's ignorance, 

His pitiable weaknesses, 

His superstitions, 

His misty entanglement of creeds, 

Make they not play-toys 

For devils ? 

Last night I was sleeping, 

Careless, abandoned, 

Dream-deserted, 

A chip in Lethe, 

A three-year-old, 

A blank: 

Sudden it seemed 

That all earth was shattered 

To fragments, 

As globe of crashed arc-lamp, 

Storm-blown into darkness ; 

And I, on one atom, 

Nakedly shivered 

Alone. 

Down weird thunderous avenues 

204 



Fell various colors of star-dust — 
Blue, red, and golden — 
And Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, 
Were not. 

Leaped I from the bed 

In terror's paroxysm — 

Moist, craven, a-tremble, 

Pallid, limp, utterly 

Distraught ; 

Yet when through the window 

Floated an isolated rumble of cab-wheels, 

From over the pave-stones, 

Immediate drowsiness lulled me. 

Without a thought, 

I turned again to my pillow. 

Two minutes afterward, 

I was a blank, 

A chip in Lethe, 

A three-year-old. 



205 



VALUES 

Once, in a great city, 

There dwelt an honest man — 

Stranger, 'tis true! 

This man had two quarters : 

Smooth the one from much using, 

But the other a counterfeit, 

Glittering, argent, 

Basely leaden at heart. 

Over a counter 

Handed this man the silver ; 

'Twas waved back in scorn : 

Absently, then 

Gave he the base one ; 

Nimbly fingered, 

'Twas taken. 

Whereupon this honest man, — 

Puzzled, abashed, entrusted, 

Girt in the darkness Egyptian, — 

Slowly walked out to the curbstone, 

And thought 

Deeply. 



206 



ROOMMATES 

The man who tried to run away 

From himself 

Gave up at last, 

And said : 

"Shake, old boy; I see plainly 

That we must bunk 

Together/' 

So now they dwell, fairly harmonious, 

In the same house ; 

Although 'tis a grievous truth 

That they occasionally have an 

Extempore boxing 

Match, 

And sometimes go in and out 

And around 

For whole cross days 

Without looking at one another 

Or even speaking 

A word. 



207 



KEEPING YOUNG 

Through that thicket of decayed underbrush, 

A library, 

I was stalking a word, — 

An artful, curious word, — 

To the death. 

Suddenly aside 

I looked; 

Saw, bent o'er brown primeval leaves, 

A pale old young man — 

Hectic, feverish, unnatural. 

I said: 

"Friend, what's up ! 

Is our good steady-going planet 

About to drop into 

The orbit of Saturn, 

Freezing us all 

Out?" 

"Nay, I know not," 

Said he; 

"But I read once in a book 

That one may keep young 

And cheerful 

By maintaining his enthusiasm 

On some certain layer, or stratum, 

Of human knowledge. 

Sir, these five years have I 

208 



Kept myself young 

And cheerful 

By maintaining an enthusiasm 

To define specifically, definitely, precisely, 

The real cause 

Of the Variability of Multiple 

And Homologous 

Parts." 

This quaint youth 

Contemplated I a space 

Silently, 

Looking my deep pity 

And commiseration. 

Then I handed him 

A quarter 

And told him to go over 

To the lake 

And take a boat-ride. 

I myself, 

Through that thicket of decayed underbrush, 

Continued to stalk a word, — 

An artful, curious word, — 

To the death. 



u 209 



A WOODEN INDIAN 

Moss-backed aphorisms 

These : 

That Love laughs at locksmiths ; 

That Love hath wings ; 

Also, 

That the same capricious little god 

Will not be chain-bound, 

Except with chain of his own 

Forging. 

Yet one fool brain conceived a chimera, 

Which was, — 

That one might drag Love 

Into a cold lusterless life 

By the ears. 

One day 

A man propounded this odd question 

To himself: 

"Am I a wooden Indian ?" 

Then he swept Descartes, Hegel, Spinoza, 

And several others, 

Into the waste-basket, 

Shied the "Critique of Pure Reason" 

At the astounded cat, 

And went out. 

210 



When the clock had ticked off certain hours, 

He returned. 

Gazing long into guileless, unconvinced eyes, 

He propounded this mathematical 

Problem : 

"What is the precise point 

Of difference 

Between, — 

A wooden Indian, 

And, 

An unreflective, shallow-pated, blunder-footed, 

Thistle-eating, herbivorous, 

Arcadian 

Ass?" 



211 



TWO CRITICS 

Two critics married, — 
Ay, the soft nuptial knot 
They tied. 
What delight 
For gods and men ! 

His hair (she said) was always mussed up. 
Her hat (he said) was never on straight. 
Is that tie (she inquired) a manifesto 
That you have turned toreador? 
Or- 
is it simply a danger signal? 
Ere you warble that soulful ditty 
Again 

(He suggested) 
Will you not kindly 
Bolt the door of the china-closet? 
Etc., etc., etc., — 
Chiefly, etc. 

But all this happened 

One hundred years 

Ago. 

Last week 

Two wing-weary shivering souls 

Passed in the bleak mid-spaces, . 

Vacant-cold of eye, 

Without slightest suspicion 

That they had ever met, 

Each the other, 

Before. 

212 



WORK 

It has long been a favorite 
Axiom of mine 
That work, like time, was 
Made for slaves. 

But this morning I saw a domesticated 

Epileptic cat 

Chasing her maltese shadow 

In and around 

A hastily improvised 

Circus-ring. 

Shortly afterward, 

A well-fed but entirely 

Unsophisticated 

Dog 

Whirled by me, 

The end of his long bushy tail 

Grasped firmly in his 

Mouth. 

Even now, 

As I sat here by the roadside, 

Trying to become honest enough 

To break into 

The exclusive society 

Of nut-dropping 

Squirrels, 

213 



I saw a perspiring millionaire 

Head swiftly his new 

Automobile 

Towards a swart dim blur on the clean sky. 

I called: 

"Where to,— friend !" 

The answer reached me with dust in its 

Throat, 

But finally coughed out : 

"To work !" 



214 



MY ENEMIES 

What saith the cynic? 

Life would indeed weigh heavily, 

At times, 

But for the pleasant hatreds 

Of our enemies. 

Those pleasant little hatreds, 

Like little stuffed 

Manikins, 

I often delight to set up in rows 

On top of rural 

Fences. 

Then I back off a distance and 

Knock them over 

With coarse wayside 

Stones. 

However, 

I soon tire of that kind of 

Child-play. 

There are so many other things, 

In the near live fields, 

To look at. 

After awhile, 

The grinning little over-bowled manikins 

Are very far below the new 

215 



Horizon-line 

Of my on-journeying 

Regard. 

Yet, somehow, 

I am always passing careful, 

And precise, 

In making true mental notation 

Of the grassy abandoned 

Falling-places 

Of those little manikins. 

Who knows! 

Perhaps, 

On the day after to-morrow, 

I may wish to hurl 

More stones. 



216 



HEADS 

To me, reader, even to me, 

Your most humble and obedient servant, 

The occasional, jaundiced, world-reorganizing 

Carper 

Applies that vulgar appellation, — 

"Swelled* head." 

Anger-flushed, slowly, musingly, 

Raise I my hand to the high-domed habitation 

Of my insulted mentality. 

Alack ! 'tis often to find 

My hat-lining taut with strange stretching; 

And aware I become 

Of gaseous, vaporish spaces 

Surmounting gray convolutions of brain. 

Nothing daunted, 

Straightway I assign myself 

The task of remodeling and worthily filling out 

The unsightly vacuums. 

When I have shoveled in enough 

Meritorious knowledge 

To justify possession of protuberances 

Unique and embarrassing, 

Boldly I turn me to light. 

But look ! these same saffron-faced wise men 

Have been so intent on the reorganization 

Of worlds 

217 



That their own heads have shriveled several six- 
teenths, 
And divers hat-brims, down-journeying, 
Are now pressing out unregarded pinna of ear 
Into lines quite palpably 
Horizontal. 



218 



PROFESSORIAL BRAYERS 

Once in so often, 

(However, not infrequent) 

An unbalanced, muddle-headed, professorial 

Ass 

Breaks loose from his lush 

Clover-fragrant meadow 

And gallops, hee-hawing, down the 

Common hot highway 

Of dust. 

To casual ears 

The uninterpreted flood of his braying 

Sounds w r eird and ridiculous ; 

When interpreted, it sounds 

Only ridiculous. 

I met one long-eared professorial 

Brayer, once, 

Who, wandering abroad, 

Brayed this, — 

That if the great barbed steed 

Of War 

Should come thundering down that roadway, 

'Twould be wise and humanitarian 

Policy 

For one to lie pliant in the dust 

And calmly let himself be 

Hoofed over. 

219 



Yesterday I heard another — 
Thus : 

"Croesus, even he who owns all this 
Fine meadowland and all the 
Sweet-water springs 
Thereon, — 
Croesus, I say, 
Is a man of much vaster 
Genius, 

Of more superior present and 
Ultimate worth, 

Than yon idle Thespian barnstormer, 
Sophocles." 
Aghast, I harkened. 
Then, over the fence-top, 
Caressing a gray hirsute muzzle, 
I asked : 

"In reference to our friend Balaam, there, 
Is that the natural condition 
Of the beast?" 

"Neigh," returned my new acquaintance, 
Thrusting familiarly 
His cool and bristly nose down my 
Shirt-bosom, 

"He has eaten rather too much clover to-day ; 
Regard him not." 
And, indeed, 

When that professorial brayer saw 
That I regarded him not, 
u He very shortly 
Quit braying. 



220 



THE GREAT EDITOR 

A Great Editor ! 

All editors, of course, 

Are great, 

But this Editor 

Was Greater. 

His greatness, while innate, 

Was due chiefly to sedulous development 

Of that keen, acute, newspaper 

Instinct, — 

That subtle, infallible, marvelous 

Sense, — 

Which prompted him to recognize 

A piece of news, 

As news, 

After it had appeared in first editions 

Of contemporaries, 

And to expedite the formal presentation 

Of same, 

Under big brazen capitals, 

In his own 

Subsequent 

Issues. 

But this Great Editor 

Developed two fatal manias ; 

The which, in good 

Time, 

221 



Led to his being 

Thrown down. 

He displayed an ingenious fondness 

For enthralling chairs, tables, desks, 

And human furniture 

Within carmine-red circuits 

Of tape. 

Moreover, he posted an appendix 

To the Ten 

Commandments ; 

Laying down certain conditions, under which 

His subdued and malleable 

Hirelings 

Might still be allowed 

The sweet halcyonian privilege of existing 

On earth. 

To the naturally playful 

Office cat 

Gave he the squelch effectual, 

In shooting her groundward through 

An pneumatic 

Tube. 

In brief, 

To drop our fine frenzy 

Of involved 

Thoughts, 

But to guide, nathless, 

The rapt molten fusion of same 

Into a common-day mould 

American, 

He was a rigid, stiff-necked 

Disciplinarian, 

222 



An unpardoning 
Formalist, 

Clenching the inaccessibility 
Of his proud standpoint 
In life 

With Scriptural joints of quotation, 
Such as : 

"Be ye therefore perfect,"— 
"My thoughts are not your thoughts," — 
"Rejoice with trembling," — 
Et cetera. 

His other fatal mania 
Was the mania for decapitating. 
Robespierre was his divine 
Model 
Of heroism. 
When he could find no 
Pale-browed timorous reporter 
To lop off, 

Stealthily he'd toe down lonesome hallways 
To conduct the immediate impromptu 
Guillotining 
Of some unmercurial 
Copy-boy. 

However, before all material 
Was exhausted, 
The proprietor came to light 
And gently suggested 
That the Great Editor 
Decapitate 
Himself. 

Swiftly the difficult feat 
223 



He accomplished, 
With deft, automatic nonchalance 
Of experience. 
Happily, 

The seed of his broad diversity 
Of talent 

Fell not on waste ground. 
Indeed, 

His clean Roman features 
Suffered no commentatorial 
Eclipse, 

Being seen but lately 
In the healthy burgh of 
Medicine Hat, 
Where, 'tis reported, 
He captured immense critical-eyed 
Audiences, 

By the manifest relish 
And unction 

With which (as Marks, No. 2) 
He wound, unwound, wound, 
Unwound, wound, 
Long reaches of encompassing 
Carmine-red 
Tape, 

In a gigantic, renovated, double-barreled 
Production 
Of 

"Uncle Tom's 
Cabin." 



224 



DR. DECETUS 

This is how it happened : 

Two rival cliques of 

Healthy and determined 

Bacilli 

Of the tribe 

Rhinoscleromatis 

Met in a narrow, clotted-up 

Artery, 

And, 

Neither faction giving right of way, 

A free-for-all fight 

Followed. 

That same night 

The fragmentary remains 

Of all combatants 

Were carried swiftly away 

On long clean rivers 

Of blood. 

But ere the occurrence of this 
Subterranean tragedy, 
The owner of aforesaid 
Artery 

Had withdrawn his own dear little account 
From the bank, 
In order that that of 
Dr. T. I. Phoid 
is 225 



Be augmented and enlarged. 

He had also mortgaged his 

House and lot, 

That the material welfare of 

Dr. Tuber's family of growing children 

Be made secure. 

Now, for several months, 

He had adjusted his business solely 

To the modest requirements 

Of Dr. Decetus ; 

Receiving in return for 

Said adjustment 

Various costly distillations 

Of sassafras 

And medicinal unboiled 

Lake-water, — 

Not to mention scrips bearing 

Awe-compelling Latinity 

Of phrase, 

Arabian numerals, 

And a mysterious embellishing 

Of quaint serpentine 

Hieroglyphics. 

But— 

A. Penn Decetus, M. D. 

Is now the only 

Physician 

In town. 

All others are but crude 

Horse-doctors. 

If your rating in 

226 



Brads treefs 

Pleases the eye of his imperious 

And discriminating 

Fancy, 

Even you, gentle stranger, 

May venture into the ^sculapian 

Presence, 

Or await your turn, 

Fearfully, 

At his office. 



227 



A POPULAR AUTHOR 

Hearing that my dear old 

Journalistic friend and whilom side partner, 

Penn Holder, 

Had become that vaunted phenomenon 

Known as 

A Popular Author, 

I concluded to bear him my condolence 

In person, 

And ascended to his airy office 

On the twenty-seventh floor of the 

Icarian Temple. 

The poor man was hammering wildly 

At his reverberating 

Type-writer, 

But recognized me at once 

And waved me politely 

To a chair. 

"In good time/' quoth he; 

"I have just reached Chapter 

XXVIII, which is the point where 

My plots jog on good-naturedly alone, 

Allowing me to devour the contents of my 

Tin lunch-box. 

I can now talk, eat, and work 

At one and the same 

Period/' 

228 



Which said, 

Manipulating his machine 

With one hand, 

He secured a robust sandwich 

In the other 

And settled back for a quiet 

Little chat. 

I sighed, regretfully. 

"I see/' said I, "that it is 

Quite impossible 

For you to come out to my farm 

At Frog Hollow and 

Simply loaf 

For a month or two." 

He looked up with great startled eyes : 

"Tempter, avaunt ! 

Within that dread fated time 

I shall have ceased to be — 

A Popular Author." 

"And is it really possible/' I queried, 

"That you have fallen 

So low?" 

"Ay, friend, 'tis true. 

The first edition of my latest 

Historical romance, 

The Snuff-Box of the King/ 

Comprising some 150,000 

Copies, 

(See advertisement) 

Was entirely bought up 

Before publication. 

'Twill be dramatized 

229 



Next week. 
And hark me further! 
I have this very morn engaged 
Five nimble-fingered and alert 
Students 

To tear all secrets from the 
Knavish dusty past 
And lay the reeking trophies 
At my feet. 

This month's 'Prattle' (didst see't?) 
Contained a ten-page interview 
With my toothless good old 
Irish nurse." 
Emotion o'ercame me. 
Softly I rose and left; 
► Ev'n as that man of granite 
Attacked his machine again 
With both hands, 
Beginning 
Chapter XXX. 



230 



AN ORIGINAL (?) 

In the year 2002, 

Christian era, 

A native of Kansas made several 

Abortive attempts to be 

Original. 

He was the only adult in that state 

(At large) 

Whose name did not inkily girdle 

The earth. 

This fact alone made him 

Original, but 

He did not think so. 

Despairingly, he cried: 

"By the Celestial Sunflower ! 

I wither." 

Then he summoned his powers for 

One last rally, 

And wrote to the Editor : — 

"I have, Dear Editor, no kick 

Coming. 

In the pursuit of Happiness, I 

Cut 'cross lots 

And headed off the jade 

By a considerable 

Margin. 

I'll O. K. everything and everybody 

231 



On earth. 

Though a member of the proud 

Alfalfa Trust, I 

Sometimes detect myself 

Despising wealth and 

Determining to give up business 

At eighty-three — or, four — or, five. 

Then, indeed, shall life be 

A rosy banquet; 

Then, shall the Christmas goose 

Swing low; 

Then, shall the lavish steward 

Furnish forth 

Skittles and beer." 



232 



THE EGOIST 

Weary am I of philosophers 

Measuring the Lilliputian dimensions 

Of man 

And catechising sagely, — 

"What's anything?— Nothing." 

Fellows who argue that 

The whole proud race of humans 

Is of no more vital importance to the scheme 

Than a brief shooting star, 

Yet who never neglect to sign their 

Illustrious names 

To each new paralyzing damper 

For ambition. 

Why, when I stroll down the street 

And observe my brave world, — 

All the theatres, stores, clubs, restaurants, 

Lights, noises, events, color, bustle, movement; 

See haply through plate-glass my millionaire slaves, 

My sturdy club-wielding Hercules on corner; 

All, and everyone, conspiring for the welfare and peace 

Of me, — 

Puffs easily my chest with pride, 

And, pompous, I ascend the steps of my 

Automobile ; 

Proffering an obsequious vassal a nickel, 

From pure lordly impulse 

And elvish whimsicality of spirit, 

As we jaunt gaily 

Along. 

233 



YE CURIOUS ONES 

I have shelved as absurd fallacy 

Of youth, 

As veriest moondrift of error, 

The idea that this our world is globular 

In shape. 

Nay, is it not humped plainly 

A mass interrogative? 

And does it not busy ever among 

The regardless, quiring stars, 

Asking questions? 

For of us what creature, 

On the most cautious of days, 

Can avoid the gantlet and spear-throwers ? 

Do not the myriad prying, nipping little shafts 

Glance from door, window, street, corridor, conveyance, 

Everywhere ? 

What man of the polite town 

Can change the color of his neckgear 

From brilliant flamingo red to a peacock green 

Without a hundred eyes flashing their 

Interrogation ? 

Can a man of the countryside 

Trundle modestly adown the rutted road 

A new-bought wheelbarrow 

And not a dozen tongues inquire 

234 



(More or less pertinently) 

The price? 

What person riding the stresses of life alone, 

Rafted fraily on narrow float 

Of bread and cheese, 

Is not asked to explain manifold reasons 

For not taking a partner on board 

And steering blithely for the uncharted matrimonious 

Seas ? 

Who may — 

But I have shelved forever 

That most absurd error of mine, 

That this our world is spherical 

In shape. 

Hereafter, it shall continue to revolve, 

In my mind's eye, 

As a hump-backed mass interrogative, 

Busying grotesquely among 

The beautiful regardless stars, 

Asking questions. 



235 



LITERATURE 

When hurtling through a vast buzzing 

Department store, 

It occasionally chances that, having had 

My teeth filled, 

My eyes examined, 

My photograph taken, 

My correct weight (for one cent) ascertained, 

And circling with elastic arm various edibles, 

Mayhap, I pause a moment in the 

Department of Literature. 

Lo, mine eyes are gladdened and refreshed by 

Wonderful indications of the advanced state 

Of the world's erudition. 

Giant pyramids and towers of authors, 

Dead and alive, 

(Many living dead authors, but more dead living ones) 

Rear ceilingward, like stacked salmon. 

What bargains ! 

Here (cheapest of all) I see 

"Our Poets ; only 9 cents Each, or 

Three for a Quarter." 

The austere Milton is being brushed aside 

By a lithe bright-eyed damsel, 

Who is manifestly searching for 

"Little Goldie's Lovers." 

Yon stern-jawed determined virgin 

236 



(No doubt questing a cook-book) 

Is perusing with outraged cast of countenance 

A divine page of Browning's 

"Sordello." 

In the next corner one may obtain 

Complete works of immortal novelists 

For $1.99. 

Surveying the aesthetic scene, 

A wild desire to become immortal, too, 

Stirs ambitiously my breast. 

Could not I also create beautiful heroic characters, 

Write about fame, love, and the stars, 

And (discopyrighted) 

Be fervently pawed over 

Some fifty years hence? 

Vain dream ! 

Illusive castle of cloud ! 

With a low guffaw of mingled despair 

And cynical bitterness, 

I turn away; 

Purchasing, at the most frivolous counter, 

"A Ton of Fun ; or, Two Thousand Square Laughs/'- 

For desperate and hasty means of elevating 

My complete depression of spirits, 

As I ride homeward 

In the car. 



237 



AN UNFORTUNATE 

It appeared that the pimply young man 

On the other end of the 

Park bench 

Was having a perverse run 

Of luck. 

"Friend," he began, sliding easily into 

The sanguine benevolence of my look, 

"What's the fare to St. Louis ? 

Having vainly supplicated work 

In hard and mercenary cities 

Of seven states, 

Lo, I am now pressing, — 

Weary, footsore, disillusioned, — 

To that the happy town 

Of my nativity. 

Nevertheless, scorn I degrading alms 

Of the charitable. 

Behold this beautiful gold watch, 

For the which, in careless days of flushiness, 

I expended the gross of sixty-three 

Dollars. 

I shall now sacrifice to you the same 

For a paltry fiver, 

Throwing in, gratis, chain and charm." 

Thereupon he drew from his red-dotted 

Green vest 

238 



A great, glittering, brass-dropping 

Timepiece. 

"O, my poor young fellow !" 

I exclaimed, 

"You have been most monstrously 

Beguiled. 

Those watches are selling, 

Even now, at Ropem, Inn & Co.'s 

Colossal store, 

At only $3.67^ per dozen, — 

To say nothing of a reasonable discount 

For cash." 

As wearily the unfortunate young man 

Moved off, 

I could not help musing: 

''How calamitous ! 

So far away from his snug 

And happy home 

In St. Louis, 

With no personal property 

To quote 

But a green red-dotted vest 

And a great, massy, gilt-dripping 

Gold watch 

Of a purely nominal 

Value." 



239 



'RASTUS JEFFERSON JONES 

Down in Georgia, 

I saw a dusky descendant of Ham 

Gathering peaches, 

Supplemented by some nine or ten tattered 

Pickaninnies. 

I said: 

" 'Rastus Jefferson Jones, 

What's your philosophy of life? 

What think ye that the mystical, the golden 

Future 

Will body aptly forth 

In moral, mental, and financial 

Betterment 

Of the sun-loved race 

Ethiopian ?" 

He said: 

"My 'los'fee, massa! 

Ef I done git mo' chillens, 

Deu I kin pic' 

Mo' peaches." 



240 



COURTESIES 

Through the fair heart of Michigan 
Serenely walking, 

Lo, reared there a dusty, infamous, 
Wayside philosopher 
Huge in my path. 

I said: "How far to Kalamazoo?" 
He said: "Have you got a match ?" 
When he had appropriated, 
For his own present 
And future 
Exigencies, 
Some three-quarters 
Of my sulphurous property, 
And lit an antique, well-blackened 
Corn-cob 
Pipe, 

Leisurely vouchsafed he 

To enter the antechamber of my interrogation, 
And, 

Issuing thence, 

Indulged in a critical, galloping 
Comment 

On society, politics, life, 
Human nature, 
And affairs in 
18 2 4i 



General. 
So I, 

Tramping onward, 

Found there were several things 

To think about 

Besides the scenery. 

Soon it befell, 

On the road's gentle slope, 

A youth, 

Gaily-appareled, 

From a bicycle hailed me : 

"Sir, a thousand pardons, 

But— 

Have you a match ?" 

A cigarette, fragrant and Turkish, 

Lighted he; 

Profuse of thanks, 

Wheeled he away. 

But I, 

Tramping townward, 

Began to feel very much 

Like 

An empty, embossed, hastily-shut-down 

Match-safe. 



242 



POETS 

I saw a great swarming 

Of fretful little pale-featured men, 

Playing fretful little tunes 

On little harps of 

One string, 

Beneath a fair mist-wreathen hill. 

It was quite amusing to see 

The intensely serious 

Aspect 

Of each fretful little harp-player, 

As he hung amorous over his own 

Fretful little tune, — 

Commissioning the while one sly eye 

For sidelong surveillance 

On his neighbor. 

When any of all that pallid swarming 

Attempted to ascend the fair 

Mist-wreathen hill, 

They were immediately dragged back 

By near comrades. 

Drawing closer, 

I saw how one pale player, 

Stealthily ambitious, 

Was endeavoring to fasten an 

Extra string 

In his tiny little 

243 



Instrument. 

He was soon discovered, 

Set upon fiercely, 

Thrown down, 

Beaten. 

A sturdy passing wood-cutter 

Also noted this last happening, 

With quiet, amused 

Eyes. 

To him I said : 

"Who be these pitiful, pale-featured, 

Fretful little 

People ? 

And what are they 

Up to?" 

Shrugged he, laconic : 

"Poets !" 



244 



PEOPLES OF REFINEMENT 

Reared in a godly country 

Where people of refinement 

And education ' 

Punctiliously turn 

To the right, 

The man in homespun 

Encountered with a natural suffusing irritation 

The man in the bearskin coat, 

Who persistently, doggedly, ostentatiously, 

Turned to his left. 

One day a heavily-loaded cane 

Adjusted the swing of its parabola 

To the angle 

Of a gross barbaric 

Head. 

Cheerfully condoning fine and costs, 

The sensibility of our hero in homespun 

Received its first real 

Jolt. 

For so it appeared, — 

That this man in bearskin 

Hailed from a godly country 

Where people of refinement 

And education 

Punctiliously turn 

To the left. 

245 



THE MOON 

When I sauntered into the 

Village square 

It was a fine moonlit night, 

And all seats, save one, 

Were occupied. 

I said : "How complete a moon ! how lovely !" 

One cried : "You see only one side." 

These, also : " 'Tis but sunshine reflected." 
"Not inhabited — no water." 
"Distance from earth, 238,650 miles." 
"Changes her phases monthly." 
"An opaque spheroid." 

I said: "How complete — how lovely!" 

One insisted: "You see but one side." 

These, also: "Just sunshine reflected." 

"Not inhabited — no water." 
"Distance, 238,650 miles." 
"Changes monthly." 
"A spheroid opaque." 

It was a fine moonlit night when I 

Sauntered out of the 

Village square, 

And all seats were occupied, 

Save one. 



246 



A LOST BET 

As I awaited the street-car, 

Two flush-faced women sailed into 

Sight, 

Vociferously loquacious. 

Sponsoring the active right hemisphere 

Of my brain, 

I proposed a little bet with the dormant 

Unworked left one, 

Saying : 

"Ten to one, partner, 

That these too-eager, flush-faced women 

Are discussing 

Some new article of attire, — 

Shape, set, color, style, — 

Or else 

'Tis all about 'him\" 

Alas! 

My gray mental coinage 

Was placed to the bad. 

The sweet and charitable duennas 

Were simply at the old, old, commonplace 

Amusement 

Of snipping, clipping, ripping 

Another woman's sole reputation 

Up the back. 



247 



MENTAL DYSPEPSIA 

A well-groomed imaginative youth 

Was affecting the cynical blase world-weariedness 

Of expression, 

Nigh me on the train. 

Clever he was and adept; 

Some of his wisdom was as old as 

The scholarly and revered Book 

Of Kagemna. 

Even the volatile tongue of his 

Young lady friend 

Was locked by the key of wonder. 

His faults were duly aired with charming naivete, 

With candor superb. 

"You already know what a boor I am," 

He said, 

"In social life, — 

How, irremediably, I've insulted or estranged, 

By word, by act, by demeanor, 

Acquaintances, comrades, pseudo- and 

Quasi-, friends; 

But you had ought to glimpse me during 

Office hours: 

Then am I a supreme beast, 

Worthy of wearing horns. 

You should see with what mute Caligulean cruelty 

I turn people down. 

248 



The concentrated glare of my left orb 

Is truly basilisk-dire 

In effect. 

Yet oft in my softer hours 

Morosely I muse o'er my stubborn unamiable heart 

And query myself 

'Am I capable of loving?' 

Alas! I would love, but I cannot. 

To cap all," he concluded, 

"I am perfectly aware of my own 

Dire malady — 

'Tis mental dyspepsia." 

So spoke this world-weary, well-groomed youth 

To his young lady friend 

On the train : 

But that same night, when I strolled into 

The "Cider Jug,"— 

To encompass my habitual Welsh rabbit 

And read the postings of the 

O'Dullivan-McLoy fistic combat, 

Then being pulled off at 

Coney Island, — 

Did I not see the ferocious, adamantine 

Caligula 

Centering gaily a group of worldlings, 

The soul, life, enthusiasm, joy, 

Of that whole unmoralizing 

Assembly? 



249 



MY NEIGHBOR 

When I grow tired of seeing myself 

About the house, 

I often cut across meadows 

And pay a social visit 

To my neighbor. 

She is a dear motherly creature, 

This neighbor of mine, 

And is so well remote from the foibles 

And the frivolities 

Of youth 

That her mere quiet presence 

Soothes like a white mantle of dream 

My perturbed spirit. 

Gazing on her serene and meditative face, 

And the dark kindly eyes, 

Through speechless and reverential minutes, 

The gentle passivity of her nature 

Envelops me entire. 

At such moment, I sweepingly ask, 

What heart of human 

Can feel clearer foretaste than mine 

Of the boasted peace of 

Nirvana ? 

'Tis always with increased respect 

That I bid my neighbor 

A cheery good-bye, — 

250 



Leaving her calmly chewing her cud, 
And swishing the flies from her beautiful 
Black and white hide 
With easy mechanical 
Swish. 



251 



DOUBLE LIFE 

A worthy and honored member 

Of society, 

At the sedate age of fifty-three, 

Was shocked to observe 

That he had not been living a 

Double life. 

"But is it not yet possible/' 

He reflected, 

"For me to retrieve this my present 

Disgraceful and anomalous 

Position ?" 

That night he craftily procured 

Slouch, mask, sand-bag, 

Downed a lonely and ruminating 

Pedestrian, 

And made good his escape with the 

Following booty : — 

Currency, 87 cents ; 

One nickel-plated watch, 

One Alaska-diamond scarfpin, 

One pearl-handled penknife (blades broken), 

One meal ticket (half punched) 

Good on the justly-famous and popular 

"Golden Drip Restaurant." 

It was next morning, 

While carelessly glancing over a 

252 



Check for $565,000, 

Representative of his 

Monthly dividend 

As president of the great world-embracing 

Hook-and-Eye Trust, 

That this worthy and honored member 

Of society 

Collided with a thought : 

"Heavens ! what labor requisite 

For the evolution and fattening of my slender 

Newly-created shadow-half 

Into anything like proportionate 

Greatness !" 

So reluctantly he abandoned 

His infant self 

On the lowest doorstep of his ambition : 

But bore from that ignoble day 

An indelible impression of secret sorrow 

And discouragement 

That was heart-harrowing 

To behold. 



253 



THE SICK LION 

A concourse of sagacious people, 

During their yearly visit to the great 

Zoo, 

Noted, with astonishment, that 

The big African lion 

Repaid not their glances of admiration 

At compound interest, 

But looked vacantly, dreamingly, reminiscently, 

Far over their prying heads, 

At blank opposite wall. 

So wisely among themselves 

Whispered they, 

Saying — 

" Tis a sick lion ; 

Poor lion! 

What he needs is society." 

Soon the surrounded and protesting 

Keeper 

Was compelled to drag that cage 

Next to the cage of the 

"Happy Family,"— 

Which family consisted of 

Unspiritual hard-featured hyenas, 

Cunning intellectual foxes, 

Gruff domineering bears, 

Prattling tell-tale parrots, 

254 



Beautiful conceited peacocks, 

And lecherous fun-loving monkeys. 

Then saw those sagacious people. 

Indeed, 

That 'twas a sick lion; 

For, 

With bitter shake of mane, 

The mighty monarch of jungles 

Gave one last long ineffable roar, 

Fell onto his golden tawny back, 

And immediately 

Expired. 



255 



THREE AIR-SHIPS 

i 

Three men of dogma, 

Though differing in very many 

Essential points, 

Centered harmoniously in this, — 

That the best way to reach the devil-ridden 

Ears 

Of the vulgar 

Was by way of speaking-trumpets and 

Aerostation. 

So each man constructed, 

Privately, 

His own frame of longitudinal bamboos, 

Whalebone, or steel, 

Envelopes, light but strong, 

And stanch gas-bags,— 

Giving much feverish attention to 

Buoyance, shape, level, power, 

But, above all, to 

Stability, 

Which is the ecliptic 

On which all other requisites 

Are strung. 

Thus came it to pass, 
That, 

256 



( )n the day of the Great Fair. 

Three proud ships, 

Anchored carefully to base earth 

By tapering chains 

Of known weight, 

Was the magnet supreme 

For a fickle, untutored, alive 

Populace. 

Exultingly, 

Each dogmatician was making clear 

The infallibility and truth of his 

Special doctrine, 

With delicate aid of the 

Graphophone, 

When a fat burgher swelled amply his chest, 

And shouted : 

"Twenty thousand marks — 

To that man 

Who can clear fifty miles 

First !" 

While three excited air-ships were coursing 
Down the faint pale-blue 
Sky-line, 

This same fat burgher 
Unrolled a mysterious many-colored 
Chart, 

And proceeded to give reasons 
Why the assembled Trojans 
Should most completely and unhesitatingly 
Endorse 

His own private little 
Scheme. 
17 2 57 



rs 

Fs, Fs, Fs ! 

Self-flattering, clattering, chattering 

Fs! 

Fs, Fs, Fs ! 

Fs, Fs, Fs ! 

Everywhere, Fs, — 

No escape! 

Pour they shrieking from window, 

Shout they from street unto housetop, 

Sit they on ridges of churches, 

Cling they to steeples. 

Fs, Fs, Fs ! 

Fs, Fs, Fs ! 

The pained winds clap hands to ears, 

But they creep through the fingers — 

Persistent Fs, conceited Fs, ignorant Fs, 

Small, cowardly, hypocritical, commonplace i's, 

Big blustering Roman I's, 

Empty-headed, ornamented, full-dressed 3Ts, 

Bookish Fs, 

(Do not whole symposiums wrangle herein?) 

Religious Fs, pagan Fs, judicial Fs, criminal Fs, 

Fs, Fs, Fs ! 

Fs, Fs, Fs ! 

Buddha's blest sea, can it contain them all? 

Jehovah's high heaven, can it receive them all? 

Fs, Fs, Fs! 

Alas, 

God help them ! 

258 



A QUESTION 

Pulpiter ! 

You who expound so vehemently 

The most delicate whys and wherefores 

Of 

Sin, salvation, life, death, and after-death, 

And familiarly tongue 

/'Heaven'' and "hell," 

Explain me but this : — 

Where go the nonentities, 

The cowards, 

The great pallid bulk, 

The boneless souls, the lack-hearts, 

Encompassers nor of good nor of evil, — 

Where go they ? 

The great pallid bulk, 

The boneless ones, 

Nonentities, 

Cowards ! 



259 



ARTISTRY 

As I came down the valley, 

Fell marble-dust loosely 

Around me. 

I saw the blue-bloused men 

Chiseling figures of grace 

And of beauty 

Free from the rude ponderous blocks. 

Delighted, I watched them. 

Then nestling my ear on one bosom 

That ravished completely 

My vision, 

I listened for heart-beats. 

Unanswered, I leaned to another, 

Waiting for heart-beats. 

Then desperately sought I another, 

Another, another. 

"Fool !" shouted near chiselers, 

Hatefully glaring; 

"Gross, commonplace fool, 

Bending for heart-beats — 

Get thee, thou inane one, 

Insufferable dinosaur, 

From our Valley of Art!" 



260 



THE STRANGE HAND 

When I had attained the 
Interesting age 
Of seven, 

Astonished I was and dumbfounded, 
Awakening sudden, 
To find a small strange hand 
Resting beside me 
On pillow. 

"Whose hand was this?" 
And 

"Where had it come from?" 
, These natural questions 
Fought slow in the mist 
Of my juvenility. 
The mere gross fact 
That this hand of mystery 
Was securely attached 
To my own 
Wrist 
Made little or no difference. 

But, 

Ever from that day, 

Earnestly, carelessly, thoughtfully, foolishly, 

Still have I searched ; 

In probable places, in improbable places, 

261 



Still have I searched — 

Searched for the true owner of that 

Mysterious hand. 

Vain ! 

Not in church, theatre, market-place, 

In the libraries of the theologians, 

In the schools of the philosophers, 

In observatories of the astronomers, 

On the tables of the anatomists, 

In laboratories of the chemists, 

In the sweet green singing groves of the poets, 

In crowd of the surging agora, 

In town or afield, 

Have I succeeded in finding 

The true owner 

Of that 

Mysterious hand. 

So now, 

Though I have not quite abandoned 

The search, 

I have concluded to rest awhile ; 

Keeping, however, 

This strange piece of property 

Hard at work 

As my 

Amanuensis. 



262 



IN THE HALL OF IDEALS 

I unlocked the door: 

I entered my Hall of Ideals. 

The rusts and the dusts, 

Clouding, nigh choked me ; 

But my lamp 

Soon from a niche was dim-shining. 

Ruin and ruin ! 

Xot one statue of all 

Left on pedestal standing — 

Prone all, broken all, shattered. 

I said : "It is well ; 

Let them lie prone in dust : 

It is well, O illusions ! 

I live far beyond you." 

But even while speaking, 

Came sadly, slowly, the thought : 

"Is not the illusion of disillusion 

An illusion more false 

Than even these false-fair illusions; 

These, through all falseness, gave beauty ; 

That, wraps but in darkness 

Life and itself." 

Then tried I to rear 
One stone-heavy statue, 
But could not ; 

263 



Then brushed I the faces, 

And wearily studied each feature — 

Dust-doomed forever. 

At last, 

I lifted my lamp from the niche 

And clanged close the door; 

Carrying, light in my arm, 

Only a pale little bust — 

Twas one of the heavenly Muses — 

Away. 



264 



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